Bully
by Oxymoronic Alliteration
Summary: Tim's high school life was hell. Name calling, bullying, and all around torment were a part of his daily life. He chose to be submissive and quiet. A new friendship, though, encourages him to rise above it. Written for the NFA Making of McGee Challenge.
1. Chapter 1

_THUNK!_

Tim's back hit the hard metal locker causing him to wince in pain. The beefy hand that was gripping his neck didn't help much either. He opened his eyes wide, looking into the demonic eyes of his tormentor. Those eyes had been haunting him for years now. He didn't dare fight back, though he did glance down the school halls, hoping for some sort of rescue from a peer or a teacher. Unfortunately, the other students either quickened their pace to avoid being seen or slowed their pace to see the spectacle. Even the teachers avoided the scuffles; they considered it easier to simply ignore what was happening than to intervene.

"Where's my paper, geek?" The bully's breath reeked of corned beef and nicotine. Tim wrinkled his nose.

"I'll get it for you soon, Joey," he promised. "I just had a lot of homework last night and—" His explanation was cut off by another body slam against the locker.

"I don't care about your problems," Joey snarled, tightening his grip around the younger boy's throat. "The paper's due tomorrow. If you don't get it to me, your ass is mine."

He released Tim who fell to the ground panting for air. His asthma wasn't helping the situation; he didn't dare try to retrieve his inhaler, though, and run the risk of having it stolen again. "I'll get it…I swear," he said between gasps. In his mind, he prayed for the encounter to be finished.

His prayer was unanswered.

"Now about my payment," Joey said as Tim shakily stood. The poor young boy's knees were practically knocking together as he stood.

"W-what payment?"

"The payment you're gonna give me since I'm generously allowing you to write my paper on _Fahrenheit 411_."

"_Fahrenheit 4_5_1_," Tim corrected automatically.

"Whatever. I'm letting you write it for me out of the goodness of my heart, so I expect something in return."

Personally, Tim didn't think Joey Bertucci _had_ a heart, but he was smart enough not to say that aloud. He'd found it was easier to just give in than to try and fight it. "What do you want?" he asked warily.

Joey shot his meat-headed friends an amused look. "How much money you got?"

Tim considered the question carefully before answering. "Two dollars…" It sounded much more like a question than a statement of fact.

The bully wasn't buying it. In a flash, his two friends had Tim pinned against the lockers while Joey dug through his pockets. "Two dollars?" he asked as he pulled out a few bills. "Looks like you've got a lot more than that. More like…twenty-three dollars." He pocketed the money and gave Tim a cold stare. "You weren't trying to lie to me to get out of paying me, now were you, geek?"

"N-no…" Tim said in a shaky voice. He knew what was coming next and tried to brace himself.

The rock-hard fist hit his gut at full force. The hard locker pressed into his back caused even further pain in the vicious blow. The bullies released him and he wrapped his arms around his aching gut as he fell to his knees. The wind had been knocked out of him and he gasped for a few seconds before regaining his breath. He swallowed a bit of bile which had risen in his throat; he'd grown used to the taste and barely even winced when the acidic liquid slid back down.

Joey squatted down so that he was eye-level with his victim. "You may think you're so smart, but you don't mess with me, turd. You got that?"

Tim nodded mutely.

"Now I want that paper in my hand tomorrow morning with another ten dollars for lying to me. If I don't have it, my friends and I will dunk your head so far down in a filthy fucking shit-filled toilet you'll never get all the crap off. Got it?"

"Yes." His response was barely above a whisper.

As if his victim's submissiveness wasn't enough, Joey decided to use Tim's backpack to practice his punting. The open bag flew down the hallway, littering the floor with various papers, pens, and notebooks. The bully and his friends walked over the papers, leaving their muddy footprints on some of Tim's carefully written notes and homework. It had all been so pristine moments earlier.

He pulled himself to his feet, arm wrapped around his stomach. It still hurt to breathe. Tim gathered up the skewed papers and shoved them angrily in his bag, no longer caring whether or not something was crumpled or torn. He then made a hasty retreat to the bathroom. Thankfully, it was empty.

Tim studied himself in the mirror. There was no immediately visible bruising; when he lifted his shirt, however, there was a large patch of blue and grey spread across his skin. It was for the best that he kept it hidden, though. He knew all too well what would happen if his parents saw them. His mother would go into a frenzy about it, interrogating him on the who, what, when, where, and why of the bruising. His father, the Naval Officer, would gruffly remind Tim that, as a man, he should be able to defend himself.

"When I was your age," his dad had said on many occasions, "if any guy tried to mess with me, I'd clean his clock! Why didn't you defend yourself? Did you even _try_ to get in a couple of punches?"

Tim had attempted several times to tell his dad that he just wasn't good at the fighting thing, that it was easier to take the punches silently than to fight back and get hurt even worse. His dad had never quite understood how Tim, who was the spitting image of him, could be so different than he had been as a boy. His unspoken disappointment followed Tim wherever he went.

The school bell rang a five minute warning. Tim dropped his shirt and looked at himself in the mirror once more. This time, he wasn't looking at his wounds, but at himself, the teenager he'd become. He was disgusted. What kind of sixteen-year-old kid still cowered at the hand of bullies? He was a wimp, a wuss. Worse, he had a sickening feeling that he would always be a weakling, letting himself be stepped over by guys who were stronger and bigger (though far dumber) than he was. He would always be a human punching bag.

He hated himself for it.

* * *

**AN: **Hey, guys! As usual, this story is already complete! I will post one chapter a day!


	2. Chapter 2

The school cafeteria was abuzz with students, chatting excitedly as they stuffed their faces with the disgusting glop that was supposed to pass as food. The cafeteria was, of course, divided into many cliques. Seated at the good tables—the long ones that didn't wobble and had chairs that weren't mere moments away from breaking—were the popular kids. This category included jocks, cheerleaders, homecoming queens, and the drop dead gorgeous girls. Any person of a lower status who dared venture into this area was in for a hostile response, usually in the form of jeering, thrown food, or, in extreme cases, wedgies and melvins.

Next in the high school totem pole were the wannabes. These were the students who desired so much to be part of the popular group that they would gladly grovel at their feet and do whatever it took to earn a coveted spot at one of the good tables. For their submissive nature and their willingness to do anything, these pathetic souls were granted tables that were only slightly crappy. It was difficult to enjoy ones lunch when you were constantly being called upon to serve those you were desperately trying to please (getting them lunch, going to their locker to get their books for next period, doing their homework), but these wannabes seemed to manage. Many of them probably kept an extra supply of snacks in their bags to nibble on at lunch.

At the tables behind the wannabes were the female jocks, the slightly muscular girls who preferred sneakers and a pair of running shorts to miniskirts and bejeweled flip-flops. They also preferred discussing game tactics and the recent football game as opposed to discussing the best hair product for fighting frizz and what had happened the previous night on _Beverly Hills, 90210_. If they minded the separation between them and the boys who played the same sports, they didn't mention it. Next were the preps, the boys and girls whose entire high school careers depended on getting an office on the student council, maintaining a perfect grade point average, and getting into an Ivy League school. They donned perfectly pressed clothing that never seemed to be out of place; the girls in pleated skirts and cashmere sweaters and the boys in khakis and polo shirts. They discussed politics and hot topics, explaining how they'd change the world once they were in office. The idea that there could only be one American President at a time seemed to be lost on them.

The artists—drama geeks, band geeks, art geeks, and poets—had relegated themselves to a corner of the cafeteria where they sat on the floor in tight circles. They discussed their respective artistic talents while arguing over the state of art in today's world. Often times, the smell of marijuana clung to their clothing. Nothing was ever said about this.

The final section of the cafeteria was left for rest of the student population: geeks, freaks, Goths, metal heads, and students who were physically and/or mentally handicapped. In this area, the tables were terribly off-balance, tilting if someone placed something heavier than a sheet of paper on top of them. The plastic chairs were chipped and worn; the seats of some were cracked and liable to break the next time someone sat in them. The florescent lights flickered on and off and offered very little light to people trying to get reading in during lunch. The dumpsters were located directly outside the window, blanketing the entire area in a foul stench that you never really got used to.

It was in the latter section that Tim sat, a book in one hand and a can of soda in the other. He had given Joey the promised paper that morning along with the demanded ten dollars. That left Tim almost broke. He'd been able to fish out enough change for something to drink, but nothing to eat. His stomach grumbled; he ignored it and concentrated on his book. He always had a book on hand for lunch. It kept him from harping on the fact that he was sitting alone. The books ranged from classic novels to young adult coming of age literature. At the moment, he was working his way through mystery novel that featured a hard-boiled, no-nonsense Sam Spade type as its protagonist. It was the kind of man he admired, the kind of man he wanted to be, as opposed to the quivering, cowardly kid he was.

The sound of a plastic tray plopping down on the table across from him pulled Tim from his book. He instinctively placed his thumb atop the page where he'd left off and looked up. Standing opposite him was a tall, skinny girl with skin the color of honey. Her blonde hair—currently done up in pigtail braids and tied at the bottoms with red ribbons—was practically white and her eyes were light blue. Her face was splattered with an array of freckles as though someone had placed a scrim in front of her and sprayed her with freckle-colored paint. When she smiled Tim saw that her bottom teeth were slightly crooked, something that could probably be fixed by wearing braces for a year or two. She wore paint-covered overalls atop a white undershirt with three-quarter sleeves. The overalls looked like they were a size or two too big and the bust area fell away from her body. If she had been a better-endowed girl it may have looked almost sexy on her; but with her flat chest, it only looked ill-fitting.

"Can I sit here?" she asked with a bounce in her voice. She didn't exactly wait for an affirmation from Tim before pulling out the chair. It made a terrible scraping sound, but she didn't wince.

"Sure," he said noncommittally. He was too surprised by her appearance and her voluntary choice to sit with him to really protest. Who was this girl? Certainly someone like her stuck out like a sore thumb among the sea of trendy teens that seemed to dominate the school halls. Hell, she even stood out among the geeks and Goths who usually disappeared into the background. In fact, quite a few students had seen her make her entrance and their eyes were still trained on her, as though she were a zebra who had unknowingly walked into a lion's den.

"Thanks," she gushed. "I was so worried I wouldn't be able to get a place to sit. What are you reading?"

He glanced down at the book. "Detective novel."

She nodded enthusiastically. "Is that for a class?"

"No, I…I just like to read."

"Oh, I was hoping I'd get to read it for one of my classes. You'll let me borrow it when you're done?"

"Uh…sure…" Tim was taken aback by the girl's overwhelming zeal and friendliness. It was an uncommon occurrence for him.

Her eyes widened. "Oh! You probably think I'm some kind of crazy person! Me sitting down here without even introducing myself!" She extended a hand across the table. He looked at it suspiciously, as though it may bite him; then he took it reluctantly as she said, "I'm Violet Winn."

"Tim," he replied, "Timothy McGee. Are you new here?"

She nodded excitedly. In fact, every movement she made seemed to be fueled by excitement. "Just moved here from New Mexico with my mom! It's so exciting!"

"Pennsylvania?" he asked with a puzzled frown.

"Well, I meant high school, but Pennsylvania's exciting too!"

"From the way you talk, a person would think you'd never seen a school before."

"I haven't." Seeing his perturbed glance, Violet explained, "My mom and I lived in a small commune in Albuquerque with some of her fellow artists—my mom paints and makes jewelry. So they just gathered all the kids together and took turns teaching us. Old Mitch, the oldest guy there, he taught us history. And Josephina taught us English, which was funny because she had only just learned it a few years before, her being from Mexico and all. Sometimes we'd find ourselves correcting _her_, but she claimed that was just her way of testing us. My mom taught us science, and Emily, my best friend, her dad taught us math."

Tim was drinking it all in with great interest. He'd never met anyone who had been home-schooled before. "So you just sat around being taught?" he asked. "Did you have regular school days?"

"Nope. We would alternate the days between our school lessons and helping out at the commune. We'd all pack up and go into town to sell our art. We had jewelry, paintings, clothing, handbags, dishes," she said, ticking the items off on her fingers. "Whatever money we made was pooled and put towards bills and other necessities. Then the rest was split among everyone, even us kids."

"What happened?" he asked. "I mean, how did you end up here? It's a long way from New Mexico."

"My mom got a job offer from a woman here who owns a jewelry shop. The woman saw some of mom's work while she and her husband were on vacation in Albuquerque and loved it, so she offered my mom a job." Violet paused to jab her straw into her carton of milk before continuing. "My mom said no at first, but the woman was offering a lot of money. My mom started to worry that maybe I wasn't getting the social experience I needed to be a well-rounded person and figured she could put away more money for when I go to college. It was really sad to say good-bye to everyone. Emily even gave me a friendship bracelet she'd made." Violet held up her wrist to show off the jewelry which was made of pink, blue, and green fabric woven together. Small beads adorned the bracelet as well. "But I was really excited to get here!"

Tim couldn't imagine anyone being excited to come here, save for the kids who seemed to run the place, but he didn't want to squash her hopes. Violet was not only the first person in a long time to treat him kindly, but her eagerness and optimism was catchy. It seemed to wash over him like the rays of the sun, warming him to the core. So instead, he offered a weak smile. "I'm glad you were excited."

"I just came from the principal's office and they gave me my schedule." She pulled it out to show him, just in case he didn't believe her. "I've never had a schedule! And I've got a locker with a combination and everything! And look! Cafeteria food!" She jabbed her fork into the lump of mush which adorned her plate. She lifted the utensil, watching what was supposed to be macaroni and cheese dripped back down and oozed around the plate. Such a sight would sicken most people, but it only exacerbated Violet's perky mood. She was like a child riding It's a Small World for the first time at Disney World. Tim swallowed the urge to vomit.

"Do you want some of this?" she asked, noting his lack of lunch items.

Despite his disgust by the food, he was in no position to refuse. "Sure, anything you don't want, you can give me."

She smiled and handed over her sloppy joe. Grease and faux meat seeped out from between the two buns, covering his fingers and mouth as he bit in. "Thank you," he all but moaned. In his mind he saw his mother shaking her head disapprovingly, reminding him not to talk with food in his mouth. He swallowed and added, "I forgot my lunch money today."

She bit into the green beans and chewed them about in her mouth. Then she made a face. "Yeah, they told me cafeteria food was gross. I guess I should have let mom make my lunch today."

They spent lunch talking. Violet did most of the talking, actually, but Tim was happy to answer her questions about him, his family, and his hobbies. She was two grades behind him, a sophomore, so they had no classes together. She admitted to being computer illiterate—"We didn't use many electronics, let alone computers, at the commune"—and Tim generously offered to show her the basics sometime. With the amount of papers she'd be writing he had a feeling she'd want to take up typing as opposed to handwriting.

It wasn't until the bell rang and signaled the end of lunch that Tim realized how much he'd been enjoying himself. The thumb he'd jabbed into his book to save his place when Violet had first sat down was still there and he'd spent a good half hour just talking with someone; with a _friend_. "You can sit here tomorrow for lunch," he said as they grabbed their things. He hoped it didn't sound like a pick-up line or anything.

She smiled. "Thanks! I was so afraid I wouldn't make any friends!"

Tim beamed at the thought of someone calling him her friend.

As they joined the crowd of teens heading to their afternoon classes, Tim saw three girls approaching them. The girl at the front of the pack was Stacey Nolan, this year's homecoming queen; her two cronies were Gina Pitcher, who had been the homecoming court's junior class representative, and Lori Christensen, a former wannabe who, with determination, a new hair style, and a blow job or two, had managed to climb the totem pole into the rank of "Popular." She was a success story and something of an idol to the other wannabes.

Stacey folded her arm and studied the new girl. A very fake saccharine smile played on her perfectly glossed lips. "Wow!" she said with disingenuous kindness. "Those overalls are _so_ you!"

The very naïve Violet merely smiled shyly at what she took to be a compliment. "Thank you," she said. "They used to be my mom's, but she handed them down to me when I had my growth spurt. They were in perfect condition, except for a few holes, but she patched those right up. See?" Violet pointed to a bright orange patch located on the seat of her overalls. The orange stood out brightly against the dark denim fabric.

The girls giggled amongst themselves. It was a laughter laced with malice, but Violet was oblivious to the mocking. She skipped ahead with Tim in tow. All of his previous élan had eroded; he shot her a sad look. She was different from the other people here. She was peppy and unassuming, happy with her modest lot.

She was going to be eaten alive here.


	3. Chapter 3

"So when Edmund says 'Tut, I should have been that I am, had the maidenliest star in the firmament twinkled on my bastardizing,' what is he saying about himself?"

The English teacher, Miss Shaw, turned and looked at the class, a sea of bored and tired faces belonging to students who had no interest in _King Lear_ unless there was a movie version of it starring Mel Gibson. "Anyone?" she asked. Once again she was met with silence. "Timothy," she said, catching the eye of her star pupil, "why don't you tell us what you think he means."

Tim cleared his throat nervously. It wasn't that he didn't know the answer; he just didn't like speaking during class. He didn't like speaking in front of people period. The feeling of eyes on him and ears perked up, aware of his every word, made his stomach churn in an unpleasant way. "Well, I think he's mocking all of the people who believe that our personalities are decided by the stars and moon and sun, like people who read their horoscopes. He's saying that no matter what constellation or sign or whatever he'd been born under, he would still be the same mean guy that he is."

She smiled her approval. "Glad to see that _someone_ is paying attention."

He groaned at the words and slid down further in his seat, well aware of the scornful eyes currently trained on him. That was another reason he didn't like speaking up in class; his teachers tended to make a spectacle of him and his intelligence. That didn't bode well for him in the eyes of his peers.

The teacher continued with her lecture, but no one was listening; not even Tim, really. He'd finished the play already and had a good understanding of it. Shakespeare, though, had never really interested him much, so he was trying to finish his detective novel during class.

"So that new girl, Violet?"

"The one from, like, Mexico?"

"Yeah, she's in my gym class and she says she doesn't know how to play dodgeball! I thought Coach Peery was going to have a stroke! She didn't believe Violet, so she made her run laps around the gym for lying. I almost felt bad for her."

Tim tried not to let the girls in front of him know he was eavesdropping on their conversation. He'd taken a keen interest in Violet since her arrival. She was the closest friend he had and he was hoping this new place wouldn't be too much of a shock to her. She seemed to have a lived a somewhat sheltered life. It was very different compared to the lives he and the other students here lived. And, from what he'd heard from other students, her lack of knowledge regarding even the most commonplace things was very obvious.

He needn't have worried about the girls in question catching him spying, though; he was invisible as far as they were concerned.

"She is so weird! It's like she's from another planet or something!"

"She told Mr. Henson that she didn't have a television so she couldn't watch the political debate tonight for homework."

"Think it's true? I mean, no one can be _that_ bizarre, right?"

"Well, she lived with, like, hippies or something, so it wouldn't shock me."

"How does she live without television? That's, like, impossible! I'd die if I couldn't watch MTV."

The other girl nodded in agreement as she blew on her newly applied nail polish. Their conversation veered off to another subject, but Tim had heard enough. Violet was an odd duck by the school's standards. She'd been the topic of gossip since her arrival three days earlier, and the gossip was not good. Unlike Tim who faded into the background with the other geeks of the school, Violet stood out and had caught the attention of everyone.

She was like nothing they'd ever seen before.

The bell rang, eliciting groans of relief from the bored students. They grabbed their book bags and rushed out to their lockers, ready to get out as quickly as possible lest the school find some reason to keep them there even longer. Tim was the only one who took his time to put away his things very neatly—all papers in the proper folder, all writing utensils in his pencil case—before slinging the bag over his shoulder. Today, so far, had been quite good. He hadn't been beaten up, he'd had enough money to get lunch, and he'd aced his physics test.

"Timothy, could you please stay just a moment?"

The words of Miss Shaw stopped him in his tracks. Being asked to stay after class never boded well. "S-sure."

She produced from her bag a manila folder containing a stack of papers. After thumbing through the stack, she pulled one in particular out and handed it to him. "This was a very excellent paper."

He furrowed his brow in confusion as he reached out to take it. "Thank you…"

"I was very surprised, though, to see Joey Bertucci's name at the top."

Tim glanced down and saw she was holding out Joey's paper, not his own. He tried to play it cool. "Why is that?"

"Well, for one thing, when Joey took the test on _Fahrenheit 451_ he referred to Ray Bradbury as 'Roy Bradley' and didn't seem to have a clue as to what the book was about; yet in this paper, he explains beautifully how Bradbury's futuristic society depicts a world in which the act of book burning symbolizes the propaganda governments use to control citizens' thoughts. He even goes so far as to make a comparison between this and George Orwell's _1984_. Now how do you explain this?"

Tim shrugged, his eyes downcast and focusing on his shoes. "I guess he's just been working harder."

"Mm," she murmurs. "And is that also why each page of his paper has a footnote with your name and the page number?"

Wide-eyed, he glanced at the paper and saw that the pages did indeed bear his mark. He groaned. Of course! He'd forgotten that he'd set his computer preferences to automatically add "McGee" and the page number as a footnote on each page. How could he have been so stupid?

"Um…"

She set the paper down gently. "I know it's tempting to fit in with the crowd, Timothy, especially when you're so young and in a class with students two years older," she said sympathetically. "Did he pay you to write this for him?"

Tim stifled a humorless laugh. Joey pay _him_? Instead, he shook his head. "No, ma'am, he…he just asked me and I said yes."

Miss Shaw sighed in disappointment. "I should give you each a failing grade, but I'll give both you and Joey a second chance. He'll have to re-write his paper and you'll write an extra paper on _1984_ as I can see you've already read it. As per school policy, I am also required to give each of you a week of detention as well."

"Please…please don't," he begged. "I'll take the detention and I'll write the extra paper. I just don't want him to get in trouble."

"Tim, I'm sure you think he's your friend and you want him to think you're 'cool'," she said, adding air quotes to the word, "but he is as guilty in this as you are."

A heavy sweat began squeezing through Tim's pores and he found that his shirt was soaked. He didn't care about Joey thinking he was cool. He just knew that when Joey found out, he'd blame Tim for the mess and would make his life even more miserable than he already had. "Miss Shaw…"

"I won't argue with you about this. I've already told Joey about it." She didn't see Tim's eyes bulge out of his head. "Both of you need to report to detention tomorrow after school."

She pushed him reluctantly out of the classroom and into the school hallways. They were almost deserted…the perfect place for a geek beating.

"Hey, Tim!"

He jumped at the voice and the hand that clapped him on the shoulder. But it was just Violet. "You scared me!" he panted.

"Sorry, I just wanted to say hi. Are you okay?" she asked with a small frown. Tim was shaking and sweating as he stood there. His face was pale and he looked as though he was being led to his execution.

He wiped a hand across his sweaty forehead. "I'm fine. I just got detention."

"What for?"

"Writing a paper for another student."

"Who?"

He leveled her with a look. "It doesn't matter. What matters is that I'm in big trouble now."

"With your parents?"

He winced. He'd forgotten about his parents. They would not be pleased with this turn of events. "Them too."

"Why'd you write a paper for someone else?"

"Self-preservation."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that the person in question was going to beat me up if I didn't write the paper for him."

Violet frowned. "Why don't you just tell a teacher?"

"Are you crazy? You don't tell teachers these things!"

"Why not? Isn't that what they're here for?"

Tim took her gently by the arm and pulled her aside. "Look," he said in a low voice, "the teachers here don't care about what happens to us." He hated being so blunt, but it was better that she heard it from him than find out for herself just how cruel the high school disciplinary system could be. "Anything short of murder doesn't matter, so don't count on them for help."

Her lower lip trembled a bit, like a kid who had just been told Santa Claus didn't exist. "So…so who do you go to?"

"I don't go to anyone. I just deal with it the way I can."

"You just let them do this to you?" she asked angrily. It was the first time he'd seen her look angry…or anything other than happy-go-lucky. "But…but that's not fair! You shouldn't be hurt by other people!"

"It may not be fair, but that's the way it is, now–"

"Hey! I see you, you fucking piece of crap!"

Tim slumped against the locker. The bellowing snarl of Joey Bertucci was unmistakable. "Go," he whispered to her. He didn't want Violet to see high school bullying firsthand, nor did he want to her to accidentally end up in the way of Joey's blows. "Just get out of here."

Stubbornly, she stood her ground. "I'm not going anywhere," she said as she crossed her arms.

Joey—flanked by his friends—reached Tim and grabbed the younger boy without even giving Violet another look. "Are you fucking retarded or something?"

"N-no…"

"No? Then why the fuck would you put _your_ name on _my_ paper?"

"It was an accident…I didn't mean…"

"An accident?" Joey growled. He slammed Tim's small body against the wall. "Now I have to write the paper again and I have to miss a week of football practice because you're too fucking stupid to look at the papers you write."

A ripple of laughter erupted from behind Joey. "Looks like he's had another accident!" one of his friends guffawed, pointing to Tim's crotch area. His pants now sported a wet area where he'd involuntarily peed his pants. He closed his eyes, too embarrassed to face them at the moment.

"Excuse me." The voice was feminine and firm. "Who are you?"

"Get out of here, freak," Joey said to her.

"You're hurting my friend!"

"I'll do more than that if you don't get the fuck out of here."

"I'm going to tell the principal," she warned. Her threat only elicited laughter. "Stop being such a bully!"

Tim felt the grip on him loosen a bit. He opened his eyes and saw Joey give Violet a shove to the side. She went sprawling, dropping her bag. "I told you to scram, bitch!"

She was stunned. Tim had a feeling this kind of thing didn't happen in her commune. But her shock dissipated and soon she was up and running. Good, Tim thought, good to see she's learning how to deal with bullying. Just run and hope they don't catch you.

"So how are you going to fix this?" Joey's attention was back on him.

"I-I'll write a new one for you."

"And have Slut-face Shaw bust me again?" Tim received a knee to his gut. "Try again, geek."

"Uh…I…I…" He stammered on like this, sounding not unlike a scratched record. Soon, he stopped producing any sound, though his mouth continued to flap open and shut in an effort to placate the muscular teen who towered over him.

"Look! There they are!"

Violet—sweet, naïve Violet—had made good on her threat. She returned, pulling a very weary Principal Caine behind her. He obviously had no desire to deal with this situation, opting instead to let Darwin's Survival of the Fittest theory play out. "What's going on?" he asked in a monotone voice.

"They're hurting him!" Violet said. "And they won't stop."

"We were just having a talk," Joey mumbled as he reluctantly let go of Tim's shirt. The young boy took the moment of freedom to scurry behind Principal Caine and Violet. He wasn't too proud to depend on protection from others. "It's nothing important."

"You were threatening him," Violet said. "You're just a big bully!"

"Miss Winn, that is enough," Caine said irritably. "Now I'll have no more fighting in these hallways, understood?" All of the boys nodded. "Good." And with that, the principal walked off, feeling he'd done his job to its fullest extent.

Joey glowered at the couple. "Don't think you can hide behind your girlfriend, fucktard. I'll get you sooner or later. I'll see you tomorrow in detention." The group retreated, leaving only Tim and Violet.

She placed a hand on his shoulder. He was still shaking. "Are you okay?"

All feelings of sympathy he'd had for her flew from his mind as he shrugged off the hand. "I told you not to get involved!" he snapped. "Now they're going to pound me twice as hard!"

"Not if you tell–"

He rounded on her angrily. "There's no one _to_ tell, Violet! I'm not sure if you noticed, but even our principal didn't seem to care! They didn't even get a slap on the wrist!" He grabbed his things and opened his locker, changing out his books. "The best possible thing to do is just take it while you count down the days until you're out of this hell hole."

"So you're just going to let them win?" she asked in a small voice. She stood there, hands on her hips, studying him with a sad expression. "That's sad. I thought you were better than that."

"Better than having my ass kicked every day? I want to live to see graduation."

She didn't say anything as he slammed the locker door shut. He silently walked away, just ready to get home and let the crappy day be over.

"So you're just going to be a coward?" she called out.

He stopped for a moment as the words sank in. Then he kept walking without another word.

* * *

Telling his parents was not a pleasant task for Tim. Growing up with a Naval Officer for a dad puts certain strains on a kid. It was less like home and more like boot camp. They expected nothing but the best from him and detention was _not_ the best.

"I'm very disappointed in you," his dad said at the dinner table. Tim didn't look up. "What on earth would make you do something like this?"

He shrugged. "I dunno."

"This was for that Joey Bertucci kid you said? That guy who's always picking on you?" His dad snorted. "I'm surprised you haven't knocked out his lights."

Tim imagined himself trying to punch Joey. The guy had so much muscle in his body that Tim would probably break his hand. "I don't like to fight, dad."

"It's not fighting if you're doing it protect yourself or someone else; then it's self-defense."

"Either way, I'm not good at it."

"Maybe I should show you a few moves."

"Richard," Tim's mom admonished. She didn't like discussions of violence at the dinner table. "Timothy, would you like me to talk to Principal Caine about this?"

"No, mom. It didn't do any good the last few times you did it, and it won't do any more good this time."

"Bullies need to be shown who's boss, son," his dad said. "If you show them weakness, they latch onto that. But you give them just one good punch and they'll leave you alone forever."

"I'm not going to punch him, dad!" he yelled. His outburst shocked him even more than it did his parents and sister. Tim rarely raised his voice above a mutter.

"Do _not_ talk that way to your father," his mom said sternly.

"Sorry," he mumbled, "I've just had a hard day."

"He peed his pants!" Sarah, his eight-year-old sister giggled. She'd been there when Tim had gotten home and had seen the urine soaked pants before he could change them.

He glared at her. "Shut up!"

His mother looked at him worriedly. "Tim, did you have an accident?"

"It was nothing, mom."

"I've got an old Navy buddy who teaches tae-kwon-do."

He grabbed his head in frustration "I don't want to learn taw-kwon-do! I just want to be left alone!" Tim pushed his chair away from the table. A plate of untouched food lay before him. "May I be excused?"

"But sweetie, you didn't eat!" his mother said

"I'm not hungry."

His parents exchanged glances across the table. "I suppose," his father said. "But let's not make this a habit. You need to eat and be healthy if you hope to show those bullies a thing or two."

Tim tried not to scream. He politely thanked them, cleaned off his plate, put it in the dishwasher, and then dragged himself wearily up to his room. His sanctuary. A place free from parents, annoying little sisters, and bullies. His still-unfinished detective novel was on his bed, splayed open on the page where he'd left off. He plucked it up and sprawled across the bed on his stomach. He'd just gotten to the good part. The killer had sent his goons after the detective to get him out of the picture—a sign that he was obviously very close to solving the case. The detective, though, took each goon one by one, fighting them off without even breaking a sweat. By the end of the scene, they were scattered about the alley and the detective was relatively unharmed.

What would he have done if he'd been the detective? Would he have stood his ground and let them come, or would he have run in the opposite direction? He knew the answer.

As he continued his reading, he found it difficult to concentrate on the story. In his mind he kept hearing Violet's words.

_So you're just going to be a coward?_


	4. Chapter 4

"Do you think my outfits are weird?"

Tim looked up from his lunch and came face to face with a dubious Violet. It had been a week since the incident with Joey Bertucci and, after apologies on both sides, their friendship had reformed, though it wasn't quite as happy as it had been. Violet was beginning to see the dark side of high school life.

"I don't know," he said honestly. He wasn't one for clothing and fashion and had no idea what the in styles were at the time. Paint-splattered overalls and plain white T-shirts probably weren't gracing the covers of magazines, though. "Why?"

She frowned as she jabbed at meatloaf on her lunch tray. "I don't know. Some of the girls keep commenting on my clothes, but they giggle about it like they aren't being serious. Like today, Stacey asked me where I got my crocheted poncho. When I told her that Mee-Maw, Emily's grandmother, made it for me, she and her friends just looked at each other and laughed. I think they're making fun of me."

It broke Tim's heart to see Violet's cheery exterior start to crack. He wanted to lie and assure her that no one was mocking her and her unusual wardrobe choices, tell her that Stacey was probably being sincere. But lying wasn't going to help; lies wouldn't make the teasing end. The last thing she needed was for her friend to start lying, even if to spare her feelings. "They probably are. Some girls have this idea that if your clothes aren't seen in fashion magazines, they aren't cool." He took a bite of his own lunch and caught sight of her downtrodden expression. "Don't worry," he assured her. "I mean, who cares what they think anyway?"

She shrugged and poked at her food. "I like my clothes. I just didn't think people would really tease someone for that."

"Around here they'll tease you for anything they can. I think it's a power thing. Like, if they can make you feel like crap, then they can feel better about themselves."

"Well, I think she _does_ like the friendship bracelet Emily made for me," Violet added, a small bit of pride twinkling behind her eyes. "She asked where I got it and didn't laugh when I told her. Then I heard her and her friends talking about how friendship bracelets are really in right now."

Tim had noticed the budding trend around school. However, most of the bracelets the high school girls wore were cheap and amateurish; Violet's looked like it had been purchased from a skilled jewelry maker, the fabrics perfectly braided and the beads painstakingly woven into a beautiful pattern. No doubt such a bracelet would elicit envy from other girls, even if it was being worn by a girl as strange as Violet.

"How are classes going for you?" he asked in an effort to change subjects.

"Okay, I guess. It's just so different here. The teachers aren't very friendly."

"I'm sure it takes some adjusting," he agreed. "But you'll adapt."

"I hope so. I'm supposed to do a history project on the American Revolution with Lori Christensen. She insisted we go to my house to do the project."

Tim winced. No doubt the lackey was hoping to collect more ammunition with which to tease the poor girl.

Violet seemed to have the same idea. "I think she just wants to find more reasons to make fun of me. I guess I'm just being cynical."

"No," he said sadly. "You're probably right. When I had to do a science project with Lance Dreiser, he went around telling everyone about…" He stopped, not wanting to reveal some of his more embarrassing secrets to Violet. "Well, he told them really humiliating things about me."

She reached up and twisted one of her ever-present pigtail braids around her finger, tugging on it as she frowned. Tim had noticed it to be a nervous habit of hers. "I thought I knew everything about high school life. I mean, I knew that bullies were out there and that every school was bound to have bad apples. I just didn't realize how…how abundant they were!" She caught his eyes with a sympathetic look. "I don't know how you've lasted as long as you have without…I don't know…going crazy or something."

"I just learned to keep a low profile. Try not to get noticed."

"I guess."

The bell rang. Lunch had ended and it was time for them to separate. Since meeting Violet, this part of the day had become increasingly harder for Tim. Sitting in a classroom amid a group of his peers, all of whom who were chatting excitedly with their own friends, made each period that much more lonely.

"How is detention going?" she asked as they gathered their things.

Detention hadn't been as bad as he'd thought it would be. The football coach, not wanting to lose his star player for a week, had talked Miss Shaw and Principal Caine into letting Joey off with a warning. Shaw hadn't been pleased, but had been overruled by the Principal. Tim didn't care, though. With Joey at football practice, he didn't have to worry about being ambushed before, during or after the detention period. In fact, he hadn't had a run in with the bully since the previous week. It had been almost heavenly.

"Not too bad," he replied. "My dad isn't happy about the situation. He's really disappointed, but that's nothing new." He flung the bag over his shoulder. "Actually, I think he's more disappointed by the fact that I don't want to fight Joey than by the fact that I got detention. He keeps trying to teach me to fight, but I don't want to learn."

"Why not?"

Violet's question took him by surprise. He'd pegged her for a pacifist, a flower child who thought all problems could be solved through love and harmony. He'd expected her to agree with him that fighting was not the answer.

Catching his shock, Violet amended, "I'm not saying violence is the best way to handle a situation, but I think sometimes it's warranted. I mean, if someone is hitting you, shouldn't you be allowed to fight back and protect yourself?"

"I'm not a good fighter."

"How can you know if you've never tried?"

"I have tried. Maybe not fighting exactly, but two years in gym class and a failed attempt at the wrestling team have shown me that physical strength is not my thing."

She folded her arms. "There's more to fighting than physical strength. Some forms of martial arts teach you how to use your opponent's weight against him."

"You've taken martial arts classes?"

"Well, no, but I've read up on them. A girl can't be too careful, you know."

Her comments pulled a smile from him. She had a point, after all; many points, in fact. When a country is invaded, they don't sit back and allow the enemy troops to push them around; they fight back, even in the most hopeless of situations. Win or lose, their integrity and sense of self-worth depend on them not giving up.

He shook his head. That was all good and well, of course, but Tim was not a country. He was just one man; not even a man—a _boy_. What could he possibly hope to do?

"Yesterday was my last day of detention," he said, changing the subject. "I was wondering if you wanted to do something after school."

"What kinds of things do you do after school?"

Tim's after school schedule consisted of walking home and sitting in front of his computer until his mother called him down for supper. That didn't sound like the kind of thing you did with a friend, though. "I don't know. We could go catch a movie or just go hang out somewhere."

Her lips curled into a smile. "Okay, that sounds like fun."

He was about to return the smile when movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention. Joey Bertucci was approaching the duo with a sly smile on his face. No doubt he was looking for payback after his pummeling session had been cut short last week. Tim inhaled and closed his eyes, bracing himself for the punch or the wedgie or whatever was to come.

Nothing did. All he heard was a strangled cry from beside him. He peeked open his eyes and found Violet standing still in her place, her head cast downward. Her shirt, which had been snow white a moment earlier, was now stained with brown and green. A gravy covered slab of turkey lay on the floor below her along with mushy green beans. Joey stood before her, holding his empty lunch tray upside down.

"Oops," he said with a sneer as he and his friends pushed passed them. "My bad."

Tears sprung to her eyes as she looked up at Tim. "I…I need to go clean up," she said in a soft tone. "I'll see you later."

He watched her scurry off to the bathroom. Other students stepped to the side, making a hole for her to rush through. Each watched her pass with a look of amusement.

* * *

Tim met up with Violet after his last class. She was standing at her locker, mutely changing out her books. He noticed that her white shirt still bore the telltale brown and green stains. He had a feeling those stains would never come out.

"Ready to go?" he asked. He hoped his voice sounded cheery.

"Yeah," she said in a tone that was anything _but_ cheery, "I just need to get my chemistry book." Her mood was somber, as though a dark rain cloud was hanging over her.

He gently placed a hand upon her shoulder. "Are you okay?"

She nodded unenthusiastically. "I'm fine. It was just a bad day." She hugged her book to her chest, covering the blotches which stained her clothing. "I'm glad today is done with."

"I know the feeling," he agreed. "So I was thinking we could go to the movie theater on Center Street. They only show movies that have been out for months already, but it's cheap and they've got some pretty good flicks there right now."

Violet was distracted, that much Tim could see. But she nodded, saying, "Yeah, that sounds like fun. My mom won't get home until late, so I'd love to have something to do. Fill the time, you know?"

"There's a burger place that has cheap food, so we could grab an early dinner if you--"

"Oink, oink, little piggy!"

The pair turned and saw Joey—surrounded by his usually group of friends—standing nearby, watching them with a smug smile. His thumb held the tip of his nose back, making it look more like a pig's snout. It was very befitting, Tim thought. He knew better than to say that, though.

Joey's hand snapped out and knocked Violet's book from her hand, revealing the ugly stain on the front of her shirt. "I see you got a little messy eating today, Miss Piggy."

"Be careful," one of his friends warned. "She may go off squealing at any minute."

Violet bit her bottom lip. She scooped up the dropped book and pushed past the group of taunting students. Tim followed behind.

"Off to roll in your filth, piggy?" was the question yelled in her direction. She ignored it.

"They've been saying that to me since lunch," she murmured to him. "Someone…someone carved the word 'pig' into my gym locker. I think they poured bacon grease or something into it too."

He winced. No doubt she was being targeted due to her participation in last week's scuffle. Tattling was the worst crime a student could commit against their fellow students; offenders were not let off with a warning. "I'm sorry," he whispered back.

"It's not your fault, Tim."

"They're singling you out because you were trying to help me."

"I should have listened to you when you told me not to get involved." She hugged the book to her chest once again as they exited the school building. "I mentioned the locker vandalism to Coach Peery, but she said they couldn't do anything about it."

To be fair, Tim thought, they probably couldn't without proof of who had done it.

"I've just never seen such…_apathy_ toward other people. I guess I was silly to think this would be the same as the commune."

"It's not silly. You were just optimistic."

"Optimism is silly."

He hated seeing her so cynical, but he couldn't disagree with her. Instead, he slung an arm around her shoulder platonically and led her down the street. "Come on," he said, once again forcing the cheeriness into his voice. "Let's go see a really bad movie and talk all the way through it."


	5. Chapter 5

Weeks went by, as they do in life, despite the taunts and torments which were thrown at Tim and Violet and the other countless geeks and dorks who filled the high school halls. Joey still hadn't made good on his threat to "get him sooner or later." Not that Tim was antsy to remind the beefy teenager, of course. He'd made blending in with the crowd something of an art. Graduation was now only a couple of months away. He just wanted to make it to that day; after that, he'd be off to MIT and high school would be a nightmare of the past.

He was sitting in his history class, working furiously on the given assignment. The students had each picked the name of a past president out of a hat and were given a month to compose a research paper on whomever they picked. The deadline on the paper was soon approaching, so their teacher had given them the period to work on it. Tim, it seemed, was the only one taking advantage of the offer.

"Yeah, my mom flipped. She said the dress made me look like a slut."

"Ugh! Moms don't understand!"

"I know, right?"

He glanced over. Stacey Nolan sat beside him and at the moment she and her lemming friends were engaged in a conversation that had nothing to do with history.

"She said that if she was going to be paying for a dress, she should have some say in what dress I get!"

"Ew! Doesn't she realize things have changed since she was in high school? Girls don't wear those kinds of gowns."

"She's such a bitch. She just wants to control me because she's bored with her fucking life. I wish she'd just give me her card and not ask questions about what I buy." Stacey's friends verbalized their agreement with that statement.

Tim resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Leave it to the spoiled little homecoming queen to think of not being able to dress like a hooker as being the crisis of the century. He bit back the sarcastic comment, though; it was better to keep his opinions to himself.

As he brought his eyes back to his own desk, they caught sight of a piece of jewelry which was wrapped around Stacey's wrist. He wasn't sure if he should actually categorize it as jewelry, actually, as it had no gems—though it did have beads—and was made of woven string rather than gold or silver or another form of metal. Tim immediately recognized it as Violet's beloved friendship bracelet.

Before he could even think about what he was doing, Tim's hand shot out and grabbed her wrist.

"Hey!" she screeched. "What the fuck are you doing, dork?"

"Where did you get this bracelet?" he asked angrily.

"Let me go!"

"Where did you get it?"

"What the fuck does it matter?"

"What's going on?"

They looked up and saw their teacher standing before them, a stern look on his face. In fact, their spat had caught the attention of all their classmates.

"Is there a problem here, Mr. McGee?"

"He grabbed my arm!" Stacey snapped. "God, he's such a perv!"

"That's not her bracelet," Tim insisted.

The teacher regarded him with a tight-lipped frown. "How do you know that?"

"Because it belongs to Violet Winn. She's been wearing it since she came here!"

"Oh, please!" was Stacey's retort. "She gave it to me."

"She did not!" Tim snarled. He knew better than anyone how important the bracelet was to Violet. There was no way she'd give it up, not for anything. "You stole it!"

"Shut it, geek!"

"Miss Nolan! Mr. McGee!" the teacher snapped, having reached his breaking point. "I don't have time to deal with your childish fights! Now either quite down or I'll send you to the principal's office."

Tim frowned. "But--"

"No buts! Unless you have proof that she stole that bracelet, I don't want to hear another sound from you. Now get back to work; if the assignment isn't enough to keep you occupied I have no problem giving you more to do."

He and Stacey exchanged malicious glares, but they heeded the warning. He returned to his work and she returned to the conversation with her friends. She kept her tone low, but Tim heard the words "dork," "weirdo," and "asswipe" come from her little clique.

* * *

As soon as school ended for the day, Tim sought out Violet in the hallway. It wasn't difficult to find her. "Violet," he said, gently grabbing her arm and leading her away. He looked down at her wrist. It was bare. "Violet, why is Stacey wearing your friendship bracelet?"

She averted her eyes and jerked her arm from his grasp. She made no effort to answer him as she returned to her locker.

"Violet," he repeated.

"It's nothing, Tim."

"Nothing? She's wearing your bracelet, your _friendship_ bracelet!"

Violet shrugged. It was obvious she was holding back tears. "It's not big deal. It's just a…just a stupid bracelet."

"I know you don't mean that."

"You don't know anything, Tim."

"I know that you're lying to me right now." When she continued to avoid his eyes, Tim thrust his face into her view. "You loved that bracelet. You were always talking about how Emily had given it to you."

"Yeah, well Emily isn't here; she's in New Mexico." She slammed her locker closed and pushed past Tim. "Things change. I need to move on from it, right?"

"So why give it to Stacey?" he asked, following behind her. "Why give it to some snot-nosed, bratty girl who thinks the world revolves around her?"

"Can you just drop it?" she snapped. It was out-of-character for her; then again, she'd seemed very out-of-character for the past couple of weeks.

Tim was persistent, though. "No. Now tell me the entire story."

Violet sighed, bringing a hand up to massage the bridge of her nose. She furtively glanced around the halls. There were students everywhere. She grabbed Tim's arm and pulled him into a nearby classroom. "Look," she said sternly, "I did what I had to do."

"Why did you have to do it?"

"Because I did! I had to make her leave me alone somehow!"

"Leave you alone?" he echoed. "Was she harassing you?"

"Every day! She kept pestering me about the bracelet, telling me she wanted it and that she'd give me anything for it."

"So you gave it up to make her stop asking for it?"

She shook her head. "No; I gave it up to keep her from…" Her thought ended there. "I just had to."

"Violet, what did she do to you?"

She leveled him with a cold gaze. "Remember when you told me not to get involved?"

He crossed his arms stubbornly and returned the look with full force. "Yes, and as I recall, you _did_ get involved. So spill."

There was no doubt Violet didn't want to go into the details, but Tim wasn't going to let up. "She has these pictures…"

"What kind of pictures?"

She looked downward, her cheeks tinted with pink. "These…these picture she took of me when we were changing after gym class."

"Oh…" he said softly as realization dawned on him. "So…so they're pictures of you in…um…"

"In my underwear," she finished. "They aren't flattering. She said if I didn't give her my bracelet, she would get the pictures blown up and would post them around school."

It was a low blow, even for Stacey Nolan. Bullying had never gone beyond gossip and pummeling; at least it hadn't for Tim. Embarrassing pictures took it to an entirely new level.

"Did you tell anyone?"

"Who?" she asked dryly. "You said yourself, no one here listens."

He winced. It was true. "But…but if you let her blackmail you with this, she'll never stop. She'll recognize you as an easy target."

Violet shrugged. "She graduates soon," she said in a soft voice. "Then I won't have to deal with her."

"You'll have to deal with the lackeys she leaves behind!"

"Okay, so I'll deal with them! I…I just can't fight!" Her eyes betrayed the weariness she felt inside. Those eyes began to well up with tears "I can't!"

He wrapped his arms around the crying girl and pulled into him. "I know," he told her. "Trust me, I know. It's hard."

Her face was buried in his shoulder, so her words were muffled. "I wish we'd never come here. I just want to go back, live in the commune. I just want to be where the people care about each other."

"I care," he told her with great sincerity.

"Just you," she whispered.

Seeing someone cry was hard. When it was a girl who had been so joyful and optimistic, it was even worse. He wished he could somehow make it right for Violet. But what could _he_ do?

After a few minutes of her sobbing and him coddling her, Violet pulled away. Her cheeks were splotched with tears and her nose was running. She ran the back of her hand beneath her nose and sniffled again. "Sorry for being so emotional."

"You don't have to apologize for it," he assured her. "Considering the circumstances, I'd be more concerned if you _weren't_ emotional."

"So what do you do when you feel like crap?"

"Go home and pretend like high school doesn't exist. Usually this involves me reading until I'm so absorbed in the story that forget about everything that happened during the day."

She gave him a genuine smile. "That sounds like a good plan." She gathered her things and opened the door. The hallway was now empty.

"Violet," he said, grabbing her hand before she could leave. "Um…would you…" He stopped, a twinge of bashfulness overcoming him. "Well, it's just that prom is coming up…and I wasn't planning on going…but if you…if you wanted to be my date…um…"

He was put out of his misery by a tight hug accompanied by a kiss on the cheek. "I'd love to," she assured him. "And thank you. I'm feeling a lot better."


	6. Chapter 6

"So, how is school going?"

Tim didn't look up at his father's question, opting instead to poke at the spaghetti and meatballs on his plate. "Fine," he said with a shrug. And it was the truth. Despite getting in trouble with Miss Shaw, Tim's GPA hadn't dipped even one point below 4.0 and Graduation Day was looming in the near future.

"That Joey kid giving you any more trouble?"

"No, dad," Tim said with a sour face. He didn't want to think about his well-muscled tormentor. "I told you, I'm fine."

But his words had fallen on deaf ears. "Because if he's still bullying you I can handle it."

"Dad," he said in a pleading tone, "please, just drop it!"

His father opened his mouth to continue, but Tim's mother, sensing her son's distress, blessedly stepped in. "Richard, if Timothy says he's okay then he's okay. He's old enough to take care of himself."

He gave his mother a small, thankful smile for her rescue. Once his father got going it was hard to get him to let up. His mother, who had dealt with his father's stubborn ways for eighteen years, knew just how to deal with him. Part one of her tactic was to admonish him; part two was to change the subject. "And how is that nice friend of yours?"

"Violet?" he asked. The young girl had been a guest at the McGee house a few times. "She's fine." His cheeks tinged pink and he added, "I…um…I asked her to prom…"

"Oh, sweetheart, that's wonderful!" his mother gushed.

Sarah giggled. "Tim and Violet sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G!" she recited loudly in a sing-song voice.

"We're not…it's not like that!" he protested to them both. "We're just friends!"

"First comes love, then comes marriage," Sarah continued unfazed, "then comes Tim with a baby carriage!"

"Shut up, brat!"

"Timothy!" his mother chided.

"She started it!"

The McGee matriarch sighed as she tried to restore order in her family. "Sarah, stop teasing your brother. One day you're going to begin dating too."

"We aren't dating!" he insisted. "We're just friends! I mean, I like her, just not like that." He rested his head in his hands. Somehow dinner discussion had gone from talking about his lack of social skills to talking about his lack of love life.

"You need to calm down, young man," his father told him sternly.

"Yes, sir."

"She's a very lovely girl," his mother assured him. "You should find out what color her dress is, though, so we know what color cummerbund to get you. Oh, and I can get her a nice corsage from Aunt Nancy's shop!"

"It's not that big of a deal, mom."

"It's your prom, sweetheart, you should be excited!"

"I am excited. I'm just not as excited as you are."

That subject too was dropped as his parents turned their attention to their youngest child. Sarah's stories and anecdotes about second grade were more than enough to keep them attentive. Tim ignored it, his mind on school and on Violet. He had been so excited about his impending graduation that he hadn't thought about the fact that he'd be leaving her behind and alone.

Later that evening as he worked on his homework at his computer, his mother knocked at his door. "Sweetie, can I come in?"

He inwardly groaned. He wasn't in the mood, but he knew that denying her entrance would only make her worry more. "Yeah, mom, come on in."

The door creaked open and his mother slipped in. "You left the dinner table so early that I didn't get a chance to talk to you more about prom." Tim didn't confess that his early departure from dinner had been for that very reason. "Would you like to take your dad's car?"

"Sure," he said with a noncommittal shrug.

"You're not going to go out drinking or anything, are you?"

Tim laughed at the very thought. "No, I'm not. I can't pass for twenty-one anyway."

She smiled, happy to see a genuine laugh from her son. "I suppose so," she said as she brushed her hand across his forehead. "Is everything okay?"

"I told dad, school's fine."

"I'm not asking about school; I'm asking about you. You've seemed upset lately."

"Senioritis," he said plainly.

She sat on the edge of his bed. "Tim, it's not nice to lie to your mother. Now tell me what's really the matter."

He frowned, hesitant to go into his problems with his mother. "It's just hard."

"What's hard?"

"High school."

"Oh, sweetie, I know."

"You do?" he asked uncertainly.

This time she was the one who laughed. "You think I was never in high school? I know it may be hard to believe, but I was your age once and I went through the same things you went through. So I do understand what you're going through."

"Glad one of you does," he mumbled as he thought about his father. No doubt Cdr. McGee's high school experience had been quite different. Tim envisioned his father walking through the school halls, daring any of the hot shot jocks to try and throw a punch. The Navy man had no idea what it was like to lack that confidence and bravado, to be a bully magnet and not be able to do anything about it.

His mother frowned slightly. "Your father understands," she said soothingly. "He just wants you to be happy."

"And constantly reminding me of my failure is going to make me happy?"

"What failure? You're a straight A student who has gotten accepted to MIT and who has grown into a fine, upstanding young man."

"You left out the part where I didn't fight back against the bullies."

"That isn't a failure; that's a choice."

"He thinks I'm weak."

"Your father thinks no such thing! He is very proud of you and you know that." She stood from her place on his bed, went to her son's side, and hugged him against her. "I know he seems harsh, but he loves you very much."

He nodded mutely for no reason other than a desire to get his mother off his back. He didn't want to talk about his father, about his problems and his bullies; he wanted to pretend like high school didn't exist, the same bit of advice he'd given to Violet earlier that day.

His mother kissed him atop his head and bade him goodnight, reminding him that she loved him. He was left alone with his thoughts, thoughts that wouldn't let him be.

* * *

"With the end of your high school education and college looming in your futures, I've decided that I want each of you to write one more paper," Miss Shaw said as she paced the length of the classroom in front of her students. "I want you to write a 1000 word paper on what you plan to do with your life and why."

The entire class groaned, including Tim. He enjoyed writing, even for school, but this assignment was one he dreaded. The truth was he had no idea what he wanted to do with his life. He had plans to go to MIT and study Computer Science, but after that he was still uncertain. No doubt he'd end up at some computer company, working his way up the company ladder step by step. Maybe he'd also keep writing in his spare time and get a novel published. It was boring, he knew, but what else could he hope to aspire to?

Shaw reacted to the groans with a grin. "Look, guys, I don't expect you to try and change the world here. If your life goal is to be a housewife and have lots of children, that's fine. If you want to open your own…I don't know…house painting business, that's okay too. The career choice can be as ambitious and bizarre as you want, so long as it's a real career, meaning you can't list something like 'Superhero' as your career goal."

The bell interrupted her and the students rushed to grab their things. But Shaw was not going to let some school bell stop her. "The paper is due the last day of class before final exams and it will count as part of your grade, so I suggest that you don't blow it off!"

As usual, Tim was the last to leave the classroom. This time, though, he came to an immediate halt directly outside the door. He had to, seeing as the hallway was filled to the brim with students. They weren't rushing to their lockers, though; they were standing in clumps, talking excitedly and laughing. He pushed through them with little interest, his mind on getting his books and getting out. When he got to his locker, though, he saw what the buzz was all about. Taped to each and every locker was a print out photo of Violet in her underwear. Her underpants were what teens called "Granny Panties" and had faded red and brown stains as well as a rather large hole near the waistband. Even worse, she wasn't wearing a bra so, although she'd made an attempt cover herself, a nipple was exposed to the camera. Her face in the pictures was one of surprise and embarrassment.

There was no signature on the humiliating photo, but there wasn't a doubt in Tim's mind that this was the picture that had been taken by Stacey Nolan to steal Violet's bracelet.

He ripped the picture off his locker and began ripping them off adjoining lockers. But it was too little too late; the embarrassing picture had already circulated around the school and everyone had seen it. So where was Violet?

"Hey!"

Tim stopped and turned to see the devil herself strolling toward him. He felt his anger boil up inside of him. "You bitch!" he spat out.

She sneered in response. "That's what you get. Next time maybe you'll think twice before you go up against me."

"So you have no problem with doing this?" he asked. "You have no problem with possibly ruining someone's life? What do you think the principal is going to say about this?"

"Too bad they won't know who it was."

"I'm sure she'll tell them."

"Oh, puh-lease! Do you really think they're going to care one way or another?"

He didn't want to admit it, but she had a point. Instead, he turned on his heel and stomped off in search of Violet. "That's it!" Stacey called from behind him. "Run off, wimp!"

Tim shoved his way through the throngs of giggling students, eyes open for any sign of his friend. He began peeking into the empty classrooms one by one. He found her in the chemistry lab.

"Violet?" he asked hesitantly as he stepped in. She was sitting on the floor near the back, her knees pulled up to her chest and her face planted into her knees. By the way her body trembled, he assumed she was crying.

He slid down beside her, placing a gentle hand on her shaking shoulder. "Are you…are you okay?" It was a stupid question, he knew; how could she possibly be okay after what had just happened?

"No," was her muffled reply.

"I'm so sorry. I am so, so sorry!" He leaned his face, fraught with guilt, into his hands. "This is all my fault."

She lifted her head and looked at him in confusion. Her cheeks were stained with tears. "H-how is it your fault?"

"She only did it because I accused her of stealing your bracelet yesterday. She did it to spite me, to get back at me."

"Oh," she said softly. Tim thought she was going to turn away from him, angry that his rash actions had gotten her humiliated. "Tim, it's not your fault. She probably would have done it eventually anyway." Violet wiped away a tear that had made its way to her chin. "She's not a nice person."

"No," he agreed, "no she's not."

"People like her do what they want when they want."

He slid his arm from its place on her shoulder to her other shoulder, pulling her in for a hug. "How bad is this going to be?" she asked him. "I mean, how long before people forget about it?"

Never, most likely; high school students didn't usually forget things like this. Even students who would be freshman next year would hear about the incident from the upper classmen and would know Violet only for that. "It'll take a while," he admitted.

"So I'm marked for life."

"Not for life…just…you know…high school."

"High school is two more years for me. That's a long time to live this down."

"Well…I mean, who cares what they think anyway? They're just some snot-nosed kids."

"I don't care what they think," she told him honestly. "But a person can only take so much teasing. I'd rather just be ignored than be singled out," she said as she ran the heel of her hand across her face, catching stray tears here and there. "There's safety in anonymity."

"Are you going to tell Principal Caine?"

"Why bother?" she asked with a cynical tone that had become the norm for her. Tim hated it; he missed her Pollyanna-like sunny disposition. "It'll be my word against Stacey's; no doubt her friends will back her up. And even if I can prove that she's the one who did it, what will he do?"

"So what are you going to do?"

She sniffled. "Nothing. I'm just going to bide my time here and hope they leave me alone."

"Isn't that letting them win?"

Violet let out a humorless laugh. "They're going to win no matter what we do," she told him. "The rules of the game are in their favor to begin with. It's rigged."

"So make your own game with your own rules."

"Tim," she said with a weary voice, "I appreciate you trying to help, but I just can't." She leaned her head on his shoulder. "I get it now…I get what you were talking about when I first met you. I'm not naïve anymore. I wish I were."

He was quiet for a moment, unsure what to say to that. There was no question that the Violet he'd met a couple of months earlier—the oblivious and optimistic one—had been far happier than the one sitting beside him now. "I can see what you mean," he said softly. "What can I do to help?"

"Nothing right now. I…" She trailed off as she stood up. "I just need some time to myself."

That wasn't what he'd been hoping to hear, but Tim understood; often there was nothing that could be said or done to pull you from such a low place. "Okay," he said as he stood, "but you know you can always call me, right?"

She nodded silently.

"Well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow, then." She said nothing. With a heavy heart, Tim retrieved his school bag and left the lab.

The pictures were still taped up all around the school and it didn't look like much of an effort had been put into removing them. Tim dropped his things on the floor and grabbed the nearest garbage can, which he placed in the center of the hallway. He then began removing the pictures one by one, tearing them into the tiniest bits he could, before dropping them into the garbage can.

He still had two more months of high school, but that paled considerably to Violet's remaining two years.


	7. Chapter 7

"Okay, just one more picture," Tim's mother proclaimed for the fifth time. "Get in closer together."

"Mom, if we were any closer together we'd be one person instead of two," Tim said between the clenched teeth of his fake smile. He and Violet had been pushed together for a photo session the moment she'd arrived with her mother. The two women were snapping pictures of the couple and cooing over them. The two teens were standing together awkwardly with big, forced smiles plastered on their faces. Their cheeks were beginning to hurt.

"Smile!"

A flash went off, momentarily blinding them. "Perfect!" exclaimed Mrs. McGee. "Now maybe just one more. Let me just reload the camera."

Tim groaned. "Sorry about this," he whispered to Violet. "My mom can be overly-enthusiastic."

"It's okay. Mine isn't much better." It was true. Violet's mother—who had insisted he call her Marian—had also whipped out her camera and was snapping pictures right alongside Tim's mother. The woman was an older version of Violet, leaving little doubt as to how the young girl would look when she grew older.

"Okay, how about some pictures outside?" Mrs. McGee suggested.

"Mom, we've got to get going…"

"I know, sweetie, but don't you want to remember this night?"

"Sure, but you've already used an entire roll of film on us."

"But you both look so cute!"

Tim wasn't sure if he would use the word cute, but he had to admit with more than a little pride that they looked good; at least, Violet looked good. She'd arrived wearing a billowy turquoise gown that had the essence of an ancient Greek toga. It wasn't flashy or sparkly or revealing, but he found that it suited her. Her hair was slicked back in a simple French braid and the only jewelry she wore was a silver chain with a dark blue gem hanging from it.

"That's a nice dress," he said in a hushed tone as the mothers re-loaded their cameras.

She looked down at the dress and smiled modestly. "Thank you. I made it." She fidgeted uneasily before asking, "Are you nervous?"

"Nervous?"

"About all of this. Prom and everything. I know Joey's been going after you extra hard lately."

That was true. Tim couldn't figure out the reason—though when had a bully ever needed a reason?—but his usual tormentor had been at it with full force for the past few weeks. He couldn't count the number of times he'd been shoved into a locker, had his books knocked from his hands, or had his gym shorts pulled down in those weeks. A punch or two had also been thrown to his gut as well. He hadn't told his parents about the escalation in his number of daily bully confrontations; the last thing he needed was another lecture from his father.

"What if he does something tonight?" she asked.

Tim's mother turned to them. "What was that, dear?"

"Oh, Violet was just wondering if I wanted to do something tomorrow night," Tim jumped in. He gave his date's hand a soft squeeze, signaling to her not to bring the subject up until they left.

The photo session lasted another few minutes, wearing on the nerves of the two teenagers. Finally, after much prodding on their part, they were released, though not without a lecture or two. "Now be careful, Tim."

"I know, mom."

"Call me when you get there so I know you're okay."

"I will, mom."

"Take a picture! You'll want one!"

"You've already taken enough to fill a photo album, mom."

She ignored his smart ass comment and pulled him into a hug. "You look wonderful, sweetie!"

"Thanks," he replied as he tried to gently disentangle himself from her embrace. No sooner has he escaped his mother's clutch than he found himself in another one.

"Thank you!" Marian told him. Violet was taking a glance in the foyer mirror, adjusting her hair, so her mother furtively whispered, "Violet's been having trouble making friends, I know, so I'm glad she's found you."

The comment made him blush. "Um…I'm glad too," he said, uncertain how else to respond.

Between the cooing and coddling and tears—all from the mothers—Tim and Violet managed to make it outside to the car. It was their sanctuary.

"I don't think I've ever seen my mom like that," Violet confided. "She's not usually one for the mushy stuff."

"She probably got caught up in my mom's enthusiasm; it can be very contagious."

"True; I was starting to succumb to it myself."

He offered a small laugh, relieved to see her in a lighter mood. Tim hadn't been the only one who'd had run-ins with bullies in the past week. Violet had endured countless taunts following the display of her embarrassing picture, but that had been the least of her problems. The worst had been when someone left rotten meat in her locker one Friday after she'd left. When she'd returned the following Monday, an awful stench had filled the hallway and the books and personal items that had been left there were saturated with the repugnant odor to a point that it would never completely come out. During the past weeks her demeanor had wavered between withdrawn and outright grief. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen her smile—really smile—since he'd asked her to prom. She seemed to be in a constant state of distress.

"So are you nervous?" she asked once again now that no perceptive and overly-concerned mothers were in earshot.

There was an apprehensive pause before he replied. "Yes," he admitted. "Yes, I am."

* * *

The local party hall had been decked out to the nines for their high school prom. There wasn't an inch of wall that wasn't covered with glitter, crepe paper, or star and moon cut-outs. A white banner reading "A Night in Paradise" in gold lettering hung across the entrance arch. In the corner was a tropical backdrop with painted palm trees and a yellow and purple sunset. Couples stood in front of the backdrop to have their picture taken as a memento. Tables were set up with silver and gold tablecloths and tiny votive candles, each seating up to ten students. The moderately sized dance floor was already filled with a good amount of couples, many of whom were bumping and grinding in scandalous ways that would make their parents go into shock. At the very back of the dance floor was a stage where a moderately talented teen band stood. Their off-key shouting was mercifully drowned out by their overly amplified instruments.

Tim led Violet in and the two stood in the doorway, hesitant to enter the proverbial lion's den. Every which way they looked they saw high school tormentors, some of whom were eyeing them like a predator eyes its prey. While they certainly weren't the only outcasts who had attended the dance, they were the ones who were in the forefront of the bullies' minds. They were targets and they knew it.

"So, um…do you want to dance?" he asked. She nodded noncommittally. Tim took her hand and walked her through the throngs of sneering people. He prayed the night would end with little trouble.

"Hey, nice dress!" The seemingly innocuous comment was the first sling of the evening and it was thrown by one of the female lackeys whose name Tim didn't recall. "Where'd you get it? Goodwill?" The implication elicited laughs from the group.

Violet fidgeted uneasily, not sure whether to dignify the insult with an actual response. "I made it," she said softly.

"You make that necklace too?"

"No," she said, protectively bringing her hand up to the item of jewelry which decorated her throat, "my mom did."

The girls tittered amongst themselves. "I guess when you're poor you have to settle for crappy stuff," another girl commented with mock sympathy.

"We're not poor and it's not crappy," Violet said with a bit of fire behind her voice. "Where I come from we take pride in making our own clothing."

"And where are you from again? Mars?"

Tim took Violet's arm before the altercation could worsen. "Let's go take a picture," he interrupted. "If I leave without taking one my mom will never let me hear the end of it."

She was trembling in anger and embarrassment but said nothing until they'd put a great deal of distance between themselves and the group of critical girls. "I hate them!" she snarled. "How dare they?"

"Don't even think about it. They're just trying to get you riled up."

She crossed her arms defiantly. "Well it's working."

He stepped in front of her, stopping her in her tracks. "We can leave if you want to," he said with sincerity. "I asked you to come because I thought you'd have a good time. If you're not…"

"It's fine," she said with a shake of her head. "I can take it."

"You're sure?"

She forced a smile on her face. "I'm sure, Tim. We'll get through the night and maybe build some character."

Her guts made him smile in return. No one could ever say she was a coward, that was for sure. "Okay," he agreed, "but if you want to leave, just say so."

Just as she was about to say something, a foot kicked out from the crowd and caught her foot. She stumbled and nearly fell to the ground, but Tim was quick enough to grab her waist. They weren't able to catch the perpetrator, but there was a distinctly male laugh from within the crowd.

"I'll definitely say so," she told him as she retained her footing.

* * *

"Hey, we're gonna take a break," announced the front man of the band—a group who called themselves Torn Jeans. "Well be back in, like, ten minutes! Oh, and I'm supposed to mention to get your votes in for your Prom King and Queen," he added as his band mates walked off toward a back room, already pulling cigarette packs and lighters from their pockets.

Violet leaned in towards Tim, whispering, "Am I the only one who thinks this music is…well…"

"Crap?" he supplied. "Yeah, that's pretty normal for high school dances."

She nodded as she toyed with the confetti on the table before her. The pair was seated at one of the back tables, hoping to avoid anymore confrontations with their more violent peers. So far prom was turning out to be a dud and neither would be sad to see it end.

"So did you guys have anything like this back in New Mexico?" Tim asked in an effort to make conversation. "I mean, did you have proms and dances?"

"Not really," she said. "Of course, we were already such a small community, we really didn't need these social activities."

"Have you spoken to any of your friends back there?"

She hesitated before answering. "When mom and I first came out here, I sent them a post card and they wrote back. I haven't heard much lately, though." She grimaced. "I guess they've forgotten about me."

"They may just be busy."

"No friends here, except for you, and now I've lost what friends I did have," she continued on, not even acknowledging his comment.

"Violet, you haven't lost them." He placed a hand tenderly over hers. "Like I said, they've probably just been busy."

But she wasn't finished with her rant. "And soon you'll leave and then I'll have no one. It'll just be me against the world."

"Don't you think you're being just a wee bit dramatic there?"

She looked at him with gloomy eyes. "No, I'm not; I'm just dreading next year without my protector."

"Protector?" he echoed quizzically. "You mean me?" When she nodded he laughed. "I'm hardly anyone's protector. I get bullied just as bad as you do. I don't do anything about it either; I just let it happen."

"You make it easier on me," she replied softly. "You look out for me, I know you do. It's just too bad we're out numbered."

The topic of conversation was starting to make him uncomfortable. He didn't like being given credit for something he had nothing to do with; he was no one's protector, and he was especially not Violet's. All he'd done in the face of bullying was run in the other direction like a coward. He didn't deserve praise for that.

"Do you want to go get something to drink?" he asked, nodding toward the west hallway. It led to a small concession stand where the students could purchase water and soda. It had been done in an effort to keep students from spiking punch bowls, but it couldn't keep students from bringing their own containers of alcohol to mix in with the drinks. One way or another, the teens were going to get smashed.

The two made their way past the tables, aware of the malicious eyes following them. Without the earsplitting music of Torn Jeans, the atmosphere was almost deafeningly silent. It made the sound of following footsteps all the more detectable.

"Sweet, huh?" commented one voice. "I mean, geeks finding love."

"Sweet?" echoed another with disgust. "Just imagine what it'll be like if they ever breed!"

"Oh, shit, Casey! Now I can't get that vision out of my head!"

The two stopped in their tracks, but not by choice. They found that their path was now blocked by a number of burly boys, Joey Bertucci among them. The group stood their ground, allowing neither Tim nor Violet room to pass.

"Hey, guys," Tim greeted nervously. "Um…can we get by?"

"Gonna pay the toll?" asked one of the meatheads. His cohorts rumbled with raucous laughter.

A hand shot out and grabbed Violet's arm, pulling her toward the group of guys. "Loved the pictures!" said the offending boy with a lecherous grin. "Are we gonna get a repeat on that?"

"Let her go!" Tim snarled as he pulled her free from the bully's grasp.

"Uh-oh!" one of the girls behind them cried. "I think you've pissed off the dork!"

The group snickered with disingenuous cries of "Oh no!" and "What ever will we do!" They obviously didn't view Tim as a threat to their plans. But he wasn't about to go down without a fight.

"Stop being assholes and let us by!" he demanded.

"Looks like he's grown a pair!" was the disparaging response. It was from Joey who stepped forward, taking glory in the daunting effect his presence had on the young geek. "What are you gonna do about it, dork? You gonna run and tell on us? Oh, wait, no; that's your girlfriend's job."

"We're not bothering you!" Tim shouted. "Just leave us alone!"

He was ignored. "So let me get this right," Joey said, this time with his attention on Violet. "It's you and your mom from, like, Mexico or whatever? So where's your dad?"

"They don't even have any pictures of him," Lori Christensen interrupted, divulging the information she'd gathered during her time spent in the Winn residence. "I think her mom got knocked up by some random guy. They probably don't even know who it was."

"Or maybe he left when she was born and he saw that face," Stacey suggested. "He got so embarrassed by her that he just hightailed it out of there."

"Can you blame him?" Lori asked. "Her mom probably wishes she'd had an abortion instead."

"Shut the fuck up!" Tim said angrily. He rarely used that kind of language, but he was bubbling over with rage at the moment. "Like you're ones to talk about someone else getting knocked up by a random guy!" His rant was cut short by fist to his face. The rock-hard knuckles hit his cheek and knocked him backwards into the wall. A hand grabbed his collar and kept him pinned there. Joey's sickening and sadistic smile was all her could see.

Tim's words couldn't slow them down as they worked Violet over. "It's too bad for us her mom didn't have an abortion. Then we wouldn't have to look at that ugly face day after day," one of the other girls said with a jarring giggle.

Violet's eyes were averted and she was wringing her hands together anxiously. She wasn't equipped for dealing with this abuse and couldn't figure out how to best respond to the cruel taunts. She was in a perfectly vulnerable place, making it all the easier for her tormentors. "Oh, fuck!" Stacey yelled in amusement. "Is she gonna fucking cry?"

"She's a fucking wuss," Lori said, "of course she's gonna cry!"

"No wonder her father ran off. Who'd want to raise some pussy crybaby?"

"Please," Violet whispered, "just leave me alone…"

It looked like the mob had no intention of budging, but then Stacey, the obvious ringleader, snorted. "Come on, guys. They aren't worth the time."

The orders were given and the drones followed them. With one last sneer, they filed out of the hallway one by one. Only Stacey, standing with arms akimbo in front of Violet, and Joey—still with a firm grasp on Tim's neck—remained. Joey released his captive, watching with satisfaction as the weakling boy slid to the floor, gasping for breath. Stacey's eyes were on her own prey.

"I get it," Violet said to her as tears streamed down her face, "you hate me. So just leave me alone."

Stacey's eyes flashed in amusement. "Oh, but where's the fun in that?" She stepped forward so that she was nose to nose with the trembling girl. "I've only got one week left here, so if I were you I'd watch my back." She turned to Joey and beckoned for him to follow.

"Have fun," the bully said before giving Tim another punch to the gut. The young boy grabbed his abdomen and fell once more to the ground.

The tormentors left arm in arm, leaving their victims reeling from the attack.

"I think," Violet said in a trembling voice after a moment of silence, "that I want to leave."

* * *

Tim wearily ambled up the walkway to his house. He'd spent the remainder of his night comforting a sobbing Violet while he tried to maneuver his car through the freeway. The poor girl had been huddled on the passenger seat, slumped over with her head between her knees. Her words had been incoherent during the drive, but Tim could surmise what she was saying.

Had bullying ever escalated to that point before? It was low, even lower than Stacey's last stunt involving Violet. This hit a person at their most vulnerable point. No one wants to be told that they should have been aborted, should have never been born. Tim was internally fuming. He was also kicking himself for not doing more to help her. Leave it to him to get his ass kicked instead of helping his friend.

He'd dropped her off at her house and had walked her to the door. She'd still been crying and he'd had to support her for the short walk. It had been heartbreaking. He'd tried to talk to her, to apologize for the night. But she wouldn't listen. In the end, the door had closed in his face.

The house was dark and silent as Tim entered. It wasn't surprising seeing as it was after ten and his parents had a tendency to turn in early. He was relieved; he wasn't in the mood to field questions about how the night had gone. Tim momentarily thought about grabbing something to drink from the liquor cabinet, but immediately dismissed the idea. His father was very observant and would notice if anything was amiss. Still, Tim needed something strong to take his mind off the evening.

"You're home early."

Tim jumped at the voice. It seemed he had been incorrect. His father was seated in his favorite armchair in the rec room with a glass of something—likely whiskey—in hand. He didn't appear to be reading or watching anything; he was just sitting there silently, as though he'd been waiting for Tim's return. "Dad," he said breathlessly, "what're you doing up?"

"I couldn't sleep and I thought a glass of Wild Turkey could help with that. Not that I'm suggesting you use alcohol as a crutch," he added in a somber tone. He always made an effort to dissuade his son from alcohol, usually while clutching a drink in his hand. "So why are you home so early? I thought the prom was supposed to last until midnight."

"Violet wasn't feeling good," he mumbled. "Actually, we were both feeling a bit on the sick side."

"Nothing serious, I hope."

He paused, wondering if he should admit to his dad exactly what had happened, all the things that had been said and done. "No, sir."

"Is that a bruise on your face, Timothy?" His father with his ever keen eyes had seen the contusion even in the dimly lit room.

"It's fine, dad," he said as he turned. He just needed to get to the sanctity of his room and he'd be home free.

"Let me see."

"I told you it's fine."

"Did something happen at prom?"

"Yes!" Tim shouted in a tone louder than he'd hoped. "Yes, something happened! I got my ass handed to me yet again! Surprising, I know! And no, I don't want to hear about fighting and defending myself and how I'm just one big disappointment to you! I just want to be left alone, okay?"

He was expecting a stern lecture from his father, reminding him not to speak to his parents that way. He'd never raised his voice to his parents and gotten away with it, and he didn't see how this was any different. But he didn't receive the berating he'd expected.

"Why don't you go up to your room," his father suggested in an even-keeled tone. "Get some rest. We'll talk about this later, son."

Tim didn't need to be told twice. He stomped up to his room, pulling off the rented tux and throwing the pieces around the room. He kicked his shoes off violently, not caring if they made scuff marks on the wall. Not only was he responsible for Violet's agony and not only had he gotten the stuffing beat out of him, but now he had a serious talk from Cdr. McGee to look forward to tomorrow.

This was turning out to be the worst night of his life. He couldn't imagine it getting any worse than this.


	8. Chapter 8

Sunday came and went and Monday arrived with no lecture, talk, or mention of what had occurred at prom and the confrontation between Tim and his father when he'd gotten home. It had been a shock to Tim when he'd arrived at the breakfast table Sunday morning and his father hadn't even looked up. His mother didn't mention the bruises either, leading him to believe that his father had already filled her in. The McGees had simply gone about their business as though nothing had happened.

It was disconcerting to say the least. As much as he hated the lectures from his father, to not receive one made Tim nervous, leading him to believe that something was very wrong.

Starting a new week of school hadn't been fun; not even the knowledge that it would be his last week of high school—not counting finals week—could make him feel any better. When he entered the school halls and saw his peers, all he could think of was Violet sitting in his car, doubled over and crying. He couldn't help but blame himself just a bit for her anguish; he had, after all, been the one to bring her to prom. He only hoped she would forgive him.

"Timothy, are you paying attention?"

He looked up and found his physics teacher and his entire physics class looking at him. They were discussing the upcoming exam and what it would contain. Tim really didn't need to pay attention, seeing as he'd made straight A's in the class and probably knew the material better than the teacher did, but there was no point in saying that. "Yes, ma'am," he muttered, picking up his pen and scribbling in his notebook to mime taking notes. When he looked up he caught the amused looks of a few of the students who had taken part in the prom ambush. He glared back at them, hoping they could hear the expletives he was yelling in his mind.

The classroom intercom came to life with a crackle and a shriek of electric feedback. "Ms. Henson, could you please send Timothy McGee to the office?"

His head snapped up at the sound of his name. Around him, the other students chorused an ominous, "Ooooh," which was the norm whenever a student was called down to the office, even if said student was a goody-goody who had never so much as seen the inside of the detention room.

"Timothy," Ms. Henson said with a nod to the door. He closed his books and slipped them into his bag and then slung the bag over his shoulder as he left the room. He knew better than to leave his personal items unattended in a classroom. Who knew what things might be done to them in his absence?

What could the office want with him? He couldn't be in trouble, he knew that. Maybe Violet had gone to them and complained about what happened at prom and they were calling him in to confirm her story. Or maybe they just needed to talk to him about some mundane little thing.

He was led into Principal Caine's office by the secretary and immediately stopped in his tracks. Principal Caine was seated at his desk along with the school's guidance counselor. What shocked Tim was that Marian Winn, Violet's mother, was seated across from the principal. She was crying, dabbing her cheeks with a worn tissue.

"Y-you wanted to see me?" he asked softly as he caught Marian's eyes.

Principal Caine folded his hands atop his desk and asked Tim to take a seat. After the young boy had slid into the chair beside Marian Winn, Caine gave him a grim look. "Timothy, I know you and Violet Winn were very close friends."

Tim nodded mutely. His heart was beating a mile a minute. The use of the past tense "were" didn't go unnoticed.

"It is my unpleasant job to inform you that Miss Winn...Miss Winn is no longer with us."

It was one of those lame things people said when they couldn't bring themselves to say someone was dead. "What…what do you mean?" Tim was going to make the man say it.

Caine shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Miss Winn has passed on."

"What happened?" Tim had an inkling as to what had happened, but he hoped he was wrong.

"It appears she took her own life. Her mother found her this morning with an empty bottle of sleeping pills. The paramedics did their best, but they couldn't save her."

Marian's only addition to the conversation was a loud sob that broke Tim's heart.

"And what has this got to do with me?" Tim asked as he forced down the lump that had formed in his throat.

"We were wondering if you could tell us why Miss Winn would have done this."

Tim stared at the man incredulously and then let out a laugh. It wasn't a laugh of humor or happiness; it was one of frustration and anger. He was at his wits' end as it was, and now he was hurt and distraught by the self-induced death of his friend. To have this man, a man who had ignored many incidents of bullying simply because he couldn't be bothered to do anything about it, ask him if he could tell them why Violet had downed a bottle of sleeping pills…it sent him over the top.

"Gee! I don't know!" he said sarcastically. "Maybe it's the fact that that bitch Stacey Nolan made Violet a target the moment she arrived here! Or maybe it's because an embarrassing picture of her was posted all over school for everyone to see! Or maybe, just fucking maybe, it's because at prom she was verbally attacked by other students and told she should have been aborted!" He stood up quickly, knocking his chair back. "Does any of that answer your question? I mean, wouldn't you feel like killing yourself after having to endure that and knowing that the school system isn't going to do shit to stop it?"

"Calm down," Caine said in a nervous tone.

"No, I won't fucking calm down!" Tim snarled. "I have been coming here for four years! I've been bullied, beaten up, humiliated, and teased countless time! You know this, of course, because you've seen it. You just never did anything about it! You preferred to let it happen and hope the problems would solve themselves! And now you're telling me to calm down? Fat chance!"

The guidance counselor took Tim's arm and said in a soothing tone, "Timothy, I know you're hurting right now."

"You don't know anything!" he snapped as he shrugged off the hand. "To be honest, I'm not that surprised Violet did this! I'm surprised I didn't think of it first!"

"Can you tell us who was bullying her?" Caine asked. He was intent on saving his own neck and decided that his best option would be to finally do something about the bullying that had plagued the school for years.

Tim was only too happy to tell him, to name every offender. He recited them the way one might recite the Pledge of Allegiance, saying them without really listening to himself. His mind was on Violet…

"Is that all?" he asked. "Are you going to finally do something?"

"You may go back to class, Timothy."

He didn't need to be told twice. Tim grabbed his things and stormed out, but he wasn't heading back to his class. Instead, he hurried his way down the hall, looking into each classroom until he found the one he wanted.

"Excuse me," the teacher said as Tim entered, interrupting the class. "What do you need?"

Tim wasn't listening. He stomped over to where Stacey sat. He grabbed her arm, ignoring her shouts of protest, and yanked the stolen friendship bracelet from her wrist. No way was he going to let Stacey continue to wear that. Violet's mother should have it. "This doesn't belong to you!" he snarled as he walked out. "It doesn't fucking belong to you!"

He heard footsteps behind him, following him from the classroom. "Hey, twerp! What the fuck are you doing?" He knew that voice all too well. "Stealing girls' jewelry now, huh?"

"Leave me alone, Joey."

"Or what?" the bully sneered. "You gonna cry again?"

He turned and looked his tormentor in the face. The other boy was smiling smugly. It only made Tim angrier. "Leave me alone," he said once again.

"Maybe you'll get your little girlfriend to go cry to Principal Caine or something."

"This is the last time I'll tell you to leave me alone!"

"Where is the little bitch anyway?" Joey asked, purposely goading Tim on. "Didn't see her today. Not that I'm surprised. If I were as ugly as her I wouldn't want to show my face either."

That made him snap and sent Tim running and hurling himself into Joey. The older boy hadn't been prepared for Tim to fight back so he hadn't grounded himself. The two were sent sprawling across the floor with Tim on top. As he blindly swung his fists at a boy who had made his entire high school experience a living hell, he was reminded of the scene in _A Christmas Story_ in which the young Ralphie goes berserk and attacks Scott Farkus, the resident bully. Watching that scene had always given him a certain sense of satisfaction; living it out was even better.

Joey tried to block the blows, but they came quickly and he had little time to brace himself. Tim continued swinging, not caring where the punches landed, just caring that they hit. Neither boy noticed the students filing out of their classrooms to watch the fight. There were laughs and giggles of nervousness; no one had ever seen Tim act like this and they had no idea what had brought it on.

"Hey! Break it up!" a voice shot out. Two arms wrapped around Tim and pulled him off of Joey. In spite of this, he kept punching and kicking into the air, hoping to get in a few more hits. "What the hell is going on?"

"The freak just went crazy!" Joey proclaimed as he was helped to his feet.

The mediator—Ms. Shaw—turned Tim around and looked at him with concern. "Timothy? What happened?"

Principal Caine ran down the hall with Marian Winn following at a slower pace. Tim looked around the hall to see hundreds of eyes staring at him with concern, wonder, and fear. He suddenly realized that he was trembling.

"What's going on?" Caine asked. It was an odd scene; an unscathed Tim standing before a bruised Joey. It was almost as though the two had changed places.

Without a word, Tim walked past the teachers and students and Principal Caine, stopping before Marian Winn. He handed her the friendship bracelet and then walked away.

* * *

**AN:** Just want to say thank you to the reviewer who left me the information on Naval ranks. It was very helpful and I will make note of it :)


	9. Chapter 9

The car ride was quiet; even the radio was off. Tim sat in the passenger seat, resting his head against he window while his father sat silently in the driver's seat, periodically giving his son a worried sideways glance out of the corner of his eye.

Following Tim's near breakdown and his scuffle with Joey Bertucci, the school had called his father to come pick him up. Considering the circumstances—and, perhaps, because Principal Caine was trying to amend his past negligence concerning bullying—Tim wasn't punished for the fight, but the guidance counselor suggested he take a day or two off to recover from the tragedy of losing his friend. Even though final exams were only a week away, they surmised that Tim had good enough grades that he needn't worry about exams at the moment.

Tim sat there, recounting the events which had led up to that day, beginning with Violet's arrival. He had known from the start that she didn't stand a chance in that place, but he'd never dreamed it would lead to suicide. He'd figured her to be stronger than that. He was the coward, not her.

Maybe it was his fault. He was the one who had planted that seed of cynicism in her mind. He was the one who had angered Stacey Nolan enough that she posted the humiliating pictures of Violet. He was the one who had brought Violet to the fateful prom, where she was pushed past her limit. He should have done more to help her. Violet had called him her protector. What kind of protector lets his protectee off herself? Only a crappy one, he figured.

"It's nearly lunch time," his father announced, breaking through the silence. "What do you say we get something to eat?"

Tim shrugged mutely.

"You pick the place. McDonald's? Burger King? Pizza Hut? Taco Bell?" There was no response. "Or would you like to go someplace nicer; a sit down restaurant maybe?"

"Whatever. Taco Bell is fine."

Cdr. McGee pulled the car into the parking lot of the fast food establishment and the two of them sauntered in wordlessly. Tim remained quiet as they sat down with their food at a table near the back. He didn't eat the burrito he'd ordered; he just picked at it with a fork, swirling the meat around as he gazed off into space.

"Would you like to talk about it?"

The question pulled him from his daze. Tim looked up into his father's concerned eyes. They were big green eyes, just like his; the kind that always expressed what their owner was feeling. Tim looked back down at the deconstructed burrito on his tray. "No thanks."

"Okay, then maybe I should talk. I know I said I'd talk to you after Saturday night. I should have."

Tim braced himself for the lecture.

"I'm sorry, Timothy."

He looked up. That hadn't been what he'd expected. "Sorry? For what?"

"For making you think that you are a disappointment to me."

"Aren't I?" he asked softly.

"Of course not!" the Cdr. said in a firm tone. "You are my son and you have always made me proud."

"Except when I let myself get bullied, right? When I can't fight back you're not so proud."

His father sighed. "I…I know I could have handled the situation better, Tim. It was never my intention to make you feel bad about yourself."

"So what was your intention?"

"I wanted you to be happy."

"And I can't be happy if I'm not exactly like you, right, dad?" he asked, his tone dripping with sarcasm. Normally he wouldn't dare speak in such a tone to one of his parents, but he was feeling brave today. He'd tackled his bully; he could do whatever he wanted. "I get that I didn't turn out the way you wanted me to. Sorry that I didn't inherit your ability to fight bullies or your confidence to stand up to them. I'm a weakling geek and that's not about to change."

"What makes you think you didn't inherit any of my traits? Have you ever heard the term 'The apple doesn't fall far from the tree'?" Tim nodded. "Well, I can assure you that is the case here."

Tim furrowed his brow in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"You think I wasn't ever bullied, that I didn't go through the same things you've been through?"

"Well…well, I assumed…"

Cdr. McGee shook his head. "Never assume, son. Not everything is as it seems."

"So…so then why were you so intent on me…on me learning how to fight and going up against Joey and the others?"

"Because I've been there," his father said. "I know how it feels to be the target of bullying. My time spent in high school was one of the most hellish times of my life and I would never wish it upon anyone, least of all my own children. In fact, it's part of why I joined the Navy. I wanted to prove that I wasn't some scared little geek and I wanted to fight back against the world's bullies who think they can just walk all over everyone." The man poked at his food, avoiding his son's eyes. "Through my time in the Navy I learned that I'd had the ability to fight back all along, I had just been too afraid to try. I wanted high school to be different for you, and I thought that showing you that it was okay to fight back would make things better. I guess I only succeeded in making things worse," he concluded sheepishly.

Tim thought about his father's confession. It was hard to imagine the man who sat across from him as being a victim of anything, especially not a victim of bullying. He was a Navy Commander, after all. People in the military weren't weak.

"It's okay, dad," he said finally. "You didn't make it worse. I mean, you didn't exactly help…but the situation would have been bad no matter what. I wasn't meant to be a fighter; I was meant to be a thinker."

"You certainly have a way of looking at things in very black and white terms, don't you?" his father mused, eliciting a look of confusion from Tim. "When you analyze a situation, you tend to look at the surface facts without looking between the lines."

"Like the subtext?"

"Exactly," he said with a grin.

"I don't see how that applies in this situation."

"Tim, why was I called to pick you up?"

The boy's cheeks tinged pink. "Dad, you know why."

"Because you kicked that punk Joey's ass, right?"

"Dad!" he admonished, having never heard his father use that word.

"Am I right? Didn't you show him that he shouldn't mess with you?"

"I don't know if I'd go that far," he said modestly.

"It's okay to say you kicked his ass, Tim; you won't get in trouble."

Tim ducked down his head. "Well…I mean, I did get in a few good hits."

"And why did you attack him?"

This time Tim fidgeted with his fork. "He...um…he said some things that got me mad."

His father didn't ask him to elaborate. "See? You're a fighter _and _a thinker."

"No," Tim replied, shaking his head. "I only beat him up because I was mad. I couldn't do that everyday."

"Doesn't it make you mad to have him bully you?"

"Yeah, but this was different.'

"Because he wasn't actually bullying you?" his father guessed.

Tim nodded. "He was saying things about Violet. It got me mad so I tackled him and just started hitting."

"You protected her."

"I didn't. I couldn't protect her. It came too late."

"You protected her name. It doesn't matter that she's gone; Joey didn't know that when he said whatever set you off. As far as he was concerned, he was still bullying her, so you went after him to stop it."

His good mood had vanished and Tim was back to his moody demeanor. "I didn't protect anyone, least of all her! I was a wuss again! I wasn't able to save her."

"Look, Tim, this is one thing I _didn't_ encounter in high school, so I can't even imagine how it feels. She was a sweet girl and she didn't deserve this, but she made her own choice. You didn't give her the pills and suggest she off herself; you didn't even push her into whatever state of depression made her feel suicide was the only way out. What you did was make her feel welcome during her time spent here and I'm sure that despite the anger and pain she felt, she was grateful to have had a friend like you."

"I should have known…"

"You are not a trained psychiatrist, Tim. You cannot expect yourself to have known anything."

His father was right and Tim knew it. Violet hadn't seemed much different that night when he dropped her off, certainly not suicidal. She just seemed sad and hurt, feelings he could understand considering what she had just been put through. There were no signs that she was considering killing herself. Her demeanor had been, sadly, very much normal for her.

He closed his eyes, stopping the rebellious tears that were about to fall. "That doesn't make me feel any better."

Cdr. McGee nodded sadly. "I know, son, I know."

* * *

A familiar car was in the driveway when they arrived home. They entered the house to find Mrs. McGee sitting with a still weeping Marian Winn. The women were seated at the kitchen table, each with a cup of tea before them. They looked up as Tim and his father entered.

"Ms. Winn came looking for Timothy and I invited her to have some tea," Tim's mother said. While she wasn't crying, he could see the tears stuck in her eyes, threatening to spill over.

Cdr. McGee greeted Marian with a slight bow. "I am sorry to hear about Violet. She was a very nice girl."

"Thank you," Marian said in a strained tone. She ran a hand across her cheek, brushing away her tears. "I'm sorry to intrude. I just wanted to speak with Timothy."

"Of course," Mrs. McGee said. She nodded her head for her husband to follow, wanting to give the two of them privacy.

Tim sat in the seat his mother had just vacated, wringing his hands nervously. Sitting there with Violet's mother…well, it just made him think of Violet, and he didn't want to think about her at the moment. "I…I'm really sorry," he said softly.

Marian nodded. "I am too."

"I'm sorry that I couldn't have helped her."

"But you did." Tim looked up into the woman's eyes. "Violet…she told me everything. About the bullying and the pictures and the prom. She told me how you stood up for her, how you were her protector."

There was that word again. "I didn't protect her. I tried…"

"You did protect her," the woman said firmly.

"So then why is she dead?"

This time it was Marian who looked away. "I don't know; I wish I did, but I don't. What I do know is that you made her happy during the most troubling time of her life, and for that I am grateful." She pulled him into a tight hug, sobbing on his shoulder. Tim responded by wrapping his arms around her, holding her while she cried.

"I still don't think I did much," he said in a shaky tone, "but I hope I did."

She sat back, once again wiping the tears away. "Timothy, you have no idea. Violet wasn't one for violence, but I've a feeling she would have been proud of you today for putting those bas…" She stopped herself from saying the word and took a deep breath. "For putting those teens in their place."

Tim nodded awkwardly. He hoped she would have been proud of him for it. "So what happens now? I mean, what are you going to do?"

"I've decided to go back to New Mexico. I can't live here. It would be too painful." She reached into her pocket and extracted Violet's friendship bracelet and a folded piece of paper. "I wanted to give these to you before I left," she said, handing him the items.

"I can't accept them. You should keep them."

"I figured Violet would want you to have the bracelet. It is, after all, a friendship bracelet. And the note was left for you."

He took the note, which indeed had his name on it. The ends had been taped together, so he opened it slowly, careful not to tear the paper. Inside, scrawled in Violet's handwriting, was a single sentence: _I made my own game._


	10. Chapter 10

Upon his return to school following Violet's suicide, Tim was met with a sea of sympathies and condolences from teachers and students, most of whom he barely knew. No one teased him for his mental breakdown two days earlier; some even congratulated him on giving Joey his comeuppance. While Tim appreciated their words, he had to wonder where this kindness and understanding had been for the past four years and especially where it had been these past weeks when Violet so desperately needed it. These people were obviously capable of compassion, so why had it taken so long and such drastic measures to pull it from them? Was this really the only way to get a point across? Would someone have to die just to stop the incessant bullying in every high school?

Principal Caine had been thoroughly shaken by the incident and it had catapulted him into action. The people Tim had named as the cause of Violet's depression were required to perform one hundred hours of community service before the school would give them their diplomas, a decision that had been met with hostility from the students' parents, but had been upheld by the school superintendent. Anti-bullying posters had been placed all around the school and there was talk of the school implementing a biannual mandatory bully prevention workshop which would be a day long event including horror stories from high school bullying, steps to stop bullying, and ways to get help if you become the victim of bullying. The school was now ready to crack down on something that had been plaguing their halls for quite some time.

For Tim it seemed too little too late.

"Um, hey…"

He looked up from his locker to see Robbie White, one of Joey's chucklehead friends, standing there contritely. The jock was rocking back and forth on his feet, looking down awkwardly at his hands.

"Hi," Tim muttered tersely before turning back to his locker.

"I just wanted to say that I'm sorry about…well…you know…"

"You'll have to be more specific than that."

The other boy's face turned beet red. "Um…about your friend."

"Violet," he supplied.

"Yeah…Violet. I didn't mean…well, I didn't think she would ever…"

"Kill herself?"

The jock nodded. "If I had…I mean I never would have…" He stopped and took a deep breath. "That's not a good excuse, I know, and I don't blame you for hating me. I guess I just didn't think it was doing that much harm. Just all in good fun, you know?"

It was a piss poor excuse and Tim wasn't about to consider the boy a friend or even an acquaintance. Still, he appreciated the attempt at an apology. Robbie was the fourth bully to apologize to him so far. Neither Joey nor Stacey had made any attempt, though both had pointedly avoided Tim since he'd returned to school. He wasn't holding his breath for an apology from either of them.

"If there's anything I can do," Robbie continued, "let me know."

"No," Tim said, "there's nothing. Thank you for your apology, but forgive me if I say I hope I never see you again."

The other boy nodded. "I understand completely." He turned to leave, but stopped. "By the way, I thought it was pretty cool the way you beat Joey to a pulp like that. He'd kill me for telling you, but he was really shaken up. I think he's kind of afraid of you."

Tim felt a certain sense of pride in knowing that. But he wasn't going to use that fear against the other boy or exploit it for his own gain; then he would become the very thing he hated. He was better than that and he knew it.

In a way Tim felt like David of biblical fame. He'd slain his own personal Goliath. He only wished he'd done it with one less casualty.

* * *

That evening he was seated at his computer when there was a knock at his door. "Come in," he called without looking away from the screen.

The door opened and his father peeked his head in. "Hey, Tim. Are you studying?"

"Homework," he said. "Just a paper I've got to finish for Ms. Shaw's class."

"Ms. Shaw is English, right?" his dad asked as he entered and sat on the edge of Tim's bed.

"Yeah, but this isn't really an English paper. We're supposed to write a paper on what we want to do with our life and why."

His father peered at the computer screen and saw that so far Tim only had the header typed up. "You seem a little stuck."

"I am," he agreed. "I'm just not sure what I want to do with my life."

"Well, you're planning to study Computer Science in the fall, aren't you?"

Tim nodded. "But I'm not sure what I really want to do with computers. I don't really want to be stuck in an office." He sighed and looked back at the computer screen. "I've actually been thinking about what you said."

"What I said when?"

"Monday; you said you went into the Navy to prove you could fight against bullies." He looked at his dad with a half-smile. "I kind of like the idea of fighting back against bullies and defending people who can't really defend themselves. It might even be therapeutic for me."

Cdr. McGee reciprocated his son's grin. "I think those people would be lucky to have you defending them."

"The thing is I don't really see myself in the Navy. No offense," he added.

"None taken. The Navy was a great experience for me, but it's not for everyone."

"But what else can I really do?"

"There are other ways to protect the innocent, Tim. Law enforcement is always an option."

He was dubious. "I don't know, dad. I can't really see myself in some police station or running down an alley after someone or even shooting a gun."

"You watch too many TV shows. Believe me, most of the time law enforcement isn't as action-packed as it seems in movies and television. In fact, a good bit of it requires intellectual strength above physical strength. Investigating is about analyzing facts and seeing anomalies."

"Don't you think my computer skills will go to waste, though?"

"Not necessarily. Many agencies and offices are starting to use computers more in investigation, so if anything I imagine you'd be ahead of the game."

"So you think I should be a policeman?"

"You could, but I think you could even try for a job in one of the federal agencies. The FBI, Homeland Security, CIA. If you wanted to stay close to the Navy you could even go with NCIS."

Tim nodded. Having grown up with a father in the Navy he was well aware of NCIS, though he'd never considered taking a job there. "Yeah, maybe," he said noncommittally.

"No matter what you choose to do with your life, Tim, I know you'll be great at it. Law enforcement is an important job, but so are many of the other careers you might consider. Just go with your gut. It will rarely lead you astray."

"Thanks, dad." It was strange how greatly the relationship between him and his father had changed. A week ago he never would have imagined having such a conversation with his father; now it seemed normal.

His father stood and gave Tim a paternal pat on the back. "I've got to tuck Sarah in to bed. Don't fret too much about the paper or about knowing what you want to do with your life. You've got a lot of time to figure it out, more than most people since you're so young. I doubt Ms. Shaw expects the paper to be an accurate depiction of your future, just a way to get your mind on the future."

Tim continued to stare blankly at the computer screen after his father had left, trying to decide which route to go. He had never considered himself a good candidate for law enforcement, but his father's argument had been very persuasive. He was a bright guy and he liked to think he had a good attention to detail, so why shouldn't he consider investigation as a career option? Not only would he be putting his intelligence to good use, but he'd be protecting the world from other bullies, and that was the best part of it.

He glanced down and caught sight of the friendship bracelet that Marian had given to him; Violet's bracelet. And suddenly he knew what he was going to do.

* * *

**AN:** One more chapter!


	11. Chapter 11

Timothy McGee  
May, 21st, 1993  
Ms. Shaw  
English IV

I've been thinking a lot about what I want to do with my life. This, I suppose, is normal considering I'm a high school student who is going off to college in the fall. Even though I've known for months now that I would be going to MIT and studying Computer Science, I wasn't quite sure what I ultimately wanted to do with my life until recently. You might think my answer is computer programming or tech support for some company, but you'd be wrong. What I want to do is go into law enforcement. I haven't quite decided what area of law enforcement I want to pursue, but I know that I want to spend my life putting bad people in jail and getting justice for their victims.

High school for me has been a Darwinian survival of the fittest. While I respect the work of Darwin, I think there is more to being the fittest than being physically strong. Strength can come in many different forms. It can be intellectual strength, emotional strength, or even spiritual strength. And there's another strength, one that comes from within, pushing us to do what is right, even if what's right is what's most difficult. It is this strength that I find most important; it is this strength that everyone possesses, but must work to find. Ultimately, I think—at least, I hope—this strength is the one that will dictate survival of the fittest.

I think it is the responsibility of those in power to protect the weak. This, however, was not what I happened during my time in high school. I spent each day in fear, worried that I would run into one of my many bullies and be tormented for no reason other than not being like them. Punches, wedgies, cruel pranks, taunting, and even name-calling were normal occurrences in my life and they all hurt me physically, mentally, and emotionally. Too afraid and doubtful of my abilities to fight back, I became a silent victim of the bullying, taking it day after day with no complaint. This made me become hard and cynical, and kept me from achieving my true potential and having a better high school experience. If I had fought back earlier in my high school career, would I have been happier? If the school disciplinarians had properly done their job and stepped in when they saw bullying, would my life have been easier? If we had all worked harder to put an end to the bullying that occurred in these school halls, would we have prevented other students from being hurt, from being pushed to the edge of their very sanity? I don't know the answer to these questions, but I regret that I didn't try sooner to change the way our school was run.

The idea of standing up to my tormentors had never even entered my mind until I met the closest friend I had in high school. In fact, she was my first and only friend in high school. She was different from everyone here; she was optimistic and peppy, wanting nothing more than to have respect and hospitality from her peers. Even that simple hope was denied. She was friendly and kind, but it was not reciprocated by her peers. Instead, she was beaten down until she was a cynical and sad teenager just like me. She called me her protector, a role I don't believe I truly filled; I wish I had. It wasn't until her untimely death that I was pushed to my potential and found the strength inside of me to fight back against a corrupt system that allowed bullying to exist. When I fought back I felt in my element, like this was what I was meant to do.

As much as I like to believe that bullying ends in high school and that everyone grows up and matures, I know as well as anyone that it isn't true. Bullies don't change, they just become older bullies and find new victims and new ways to torment them. We have bullies in our world who think they can do whatever they want. They lie, cheat, steal, and kill to get what they want with no regard for how they're hurting others. If I enter law enforcement, I can fight these new bullies the way I never could my high school bullies (at least not until it was too late). I can show that I'm not some weak little geek and that I do have the strength to stand up for myself and for others. More importantly, I can help make sure that others don't go through the things I went through.

While I still plan to study Computer Science at MIT, I've decided that after I get my Bachelor's degree, I'm going to get my Masters in something better suited for investigation. I know MIT has a Graduate program in Computer Forensics, so I may give that a try. Eventually I want to go to FLETC (Federal Law Enforcement Training Center) and learn to become a law enforcement agent. I've got the mental skills for the job, but I, admittedly, could work on the physical skills necessary. I know it will be the most challenging part of my road to law enforcement, but I won't give up no matter how hard it gets. I won't be happy until I know that I can chase down dirt bags and get retribution for victims.

I may have been a geek for the four years I spent in high school and I may be a geek until the day I die, but I will never again be afraid to stand up for what I believe in. I will never watch silently as people do wrong, as they hurt other people. I am ready to stand up against them and protect those who can't protect themselves. People need to know that bullying—in high school and in life—is wrong and detrimental to our society. Looking the other way isn't going to stop it; standing up to it will. I only hope that this time I'm able to save them all, though I know it is an unrealistic goal to set for myself.

* * *

**AN:** And thus ends the story! Thank you to everyone who read and to everyone who reviewed! You guys are great!


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